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He scrabbled up the paper and sighed; the weight on his mind clouding his ability to write. He needed to explain. He needed the words he knew he had but could not attain; to put his thoughts and ideas into a book, but he couldn’t make it sound real. They weren’t his words. They were someone else’s.

Everything he’d ever made was fake. A construct of this fictional “Liam Connor” which they had made. His true emotions, not the ones he pretended to have, coloured his writing a sombre and lifeless grey instead of the riotous reds and blues in his mind. For the first time in eight years, he truly struggled to write. For the first time he truly felt something, an onslaught of angry and desperate emotions like he’d never felt before, and he was unprepared for it. Confused, frustrated, crestfallen.

The bull terrier pushed himself away from his desk and fished his packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. He put one up to his lips and lit it, but the sedated inhalation did not bring with it the words he needed to say and the pressure within him remained.

He thought he had understood sadness, he thought he understood the aimless rage he’d written in his lyrics, the panicked emotion he’d tried to present as his own for all these years. But his texts had merely been catharsis, packaged and shipped to a market. As he removed the cigarette from his muzzle, he noticed his paws shaking again.

He moved to the kitchen and mixed a quick and dirty white lady. The lemon juice was slightly out of date, but it wasn’t like he had much in the ways of taste buds left anyways. It had gone with most of his sense of smell, hearing, and all the other things which normal people had. Liam had never wanted “normalcy”.

He was startled out of his reveries, and immediately put in a bad mood, by the sound of his phone buzzing. There was nobody in his life which he’d want to talk to right about now, and least of all the person who called him now.

“Hey, Ell… Hey,” a hoarse voice called from the other end. “I saw your interview last night. What the fuck man? You just walked off the stage in the middle of the broadcast? What’s going on? Nobody knows what’s up.”

Cee, his manager. A big, menacing panther who thankfully had stopped visiting him in person some years past but could still intimidate the worst of them.

“I don’t give a shit,” Liam spat back with his own hoarse voice, though it was not half as worn and gnarly. “I’ve said enough. I’m through. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Don’t want to do this? Are you crazy, dude? You’re on fifty-five a week! If you nail these interviews-”

“No more interviews... No more songs, no more albums, no more concerts. I’m getting out now, while I still have my brain inside of my fucking skull.”

Liam’s fingers caressed a small plastic bag which he’d kept in his pockets as he spoke, as if it was just another thing to fidget with. The world’s eight wonder. A tacit admission of doubt in his own conviction. They had introduced it to this system. Cee was one of them. He had taught Liam to cut a line and where to get clean shit. And he was one of the most profiteering assholes Liam had ever been so dumb as to call a friend.

“No, No… You can’t do this baby, you got to grind. You need a break? I can give you a break after this. A week in Bali, how about that? I’ll put you on a jet there, just another month of grind and you can kick back!”

“No. I’m done.”

“Ell, baby, come on. I don’t want to hear it.” The voice grew more determined, but it still felt as if Cee wasn’t taking him seriously. “Look, take some vico, do a line, drink yourself to sleep, I don’t care. Take this day off, and call me in the morning-”

Liam hung up before he could hear more empty bullshit. He checked his phone and found several missed calls already. He didn’t want to see who had called. They didn’t exist in his mind anymore, they were gone. Only an illusion, a bad dream.

He couldn’t say what or who he was now, when the outer layer of celebrity had been stripped from his bones. How much of his life had been shaped by them? Their influences. Their vanities. Their expectations. It ran deep as the roots of the mountains he thought he’d climbed on his own.

His large, white-painted, interior decorated, minimalist living room. His well-stocked kitchen full of fashionable products and half eaten take-away. His closets filled to the brim with expensive brands and his bathroom full of expensive soaps and perfumes. Everything gilded was now just fool’s gold; something which had no value to those who knew it for what it was. He wanted to throw it all out, but he couldn’t find the energy to even look at it. He couldn’t be here for a moment longer.

Could he just disappear? It had been done before. Fuck, it was a routine in Hollywood. If nothing else, he at least understood what drove the people who did it. And he understood why they returned so readily. It was not because they wanted. They manufactured their own demand, like the cocaine in his pocket. This rotten business didn’t entice its lost lambs back into the fold. It forced them.

It took three or four white ladies before Liam realised what he’d done. On the screen in front of him was the page he’d used to order his plane tickets. Another tab was up with his email client open. There was a message for all the contacts in his “assholes” section, which were the various music industry correspondents and agents. In the mail was a simple, two sentence statement.

“I am going away. Fuck you all.”

It felt good, like something the old Liam would’ve done, long before the rap, before the expensive habits and fancy cars. In his “Sent” folder was another, more politely worded email to his lawyer.

“Mike, don’t share this with the media.

I’m going away, and I’m not coming back. Get rid of my things, my house and cars. Sell them, burn them, donate them to charity, I don’t give a shit. You’ve got all the paperwork already, just make it happen. I want to disappear, and I don’t want anyone to know. Make sure nothing comes to bite me in the tail. At least nothing financial.

Liam Connor.”

He exhaled, and with a shaky paw, removed the stub of his cigarette from his lips and blew the smoke out into the room. It wouldn’t obscure the words he’d sent out into the world, and neither the nicotine nor the cocaine could measure up to the rush he’d felt from taking that step. He crumpled up the imported box, still with the five last cigarettes in it, and threw it in the trash. It was another habit he didn’t need anymore. Another weakness, another way for something external to exercise control over him.

He went to his bedroom, and looked around for something, anything, which he would want to keep. Any memories which were from before his career, in other words. Nothing. He was entirely self-made, in their sense of the word. Entirely shaped by the cultural cesspit of Hollywood. All the possessions he’d once put some meaning into, and all the memories from his childhood, would be with his parents. They may as well remain there. He’d fashion himself another life, like he had when he first moved here, but without making the same mistakes again.

He settled on somewhere warm. They had to speak English there, and it had to be so far away that he couldn’t run into any of his old acquaintances.

As he found his way to the gate, more and more accented voices made themselves heard, making LAX feel less like it was in California with every passing moment. It was a refreshing change, a promise of what was to come. Clad in sunglasses and a black snapback, and a plain white, long-sleeved shirt which covered his tattoos, he considered himself incognito enough to lower his shoulders. He’d ditched the gold cufflinks and expensive earrings he’d used to wear, in favour of a pair of very subtle silver studs of the type nobody’d notice. He had to look like he didn’t struggle. He had to look like he belonged. He had to look neutrally approachable, and most of all, he had to look normal.

Back when he’d lived for the art, when he’d put up tags on abandoned train cars, and drunk cheap gin from bagged bottles along with society’s refuse. When he’d run from cops and security out of instinct. Then he’d released his first mix tape with a bunch of his friends, and suddenly, everybody was talking about Elaborate, the underdog who was coming up to take their crowns. Even when he was escorted past the lines of the most reputable night clubs, a part of him yearned for the time when he had to wait. He believed in something back then, even if it was just blind, youthful, unfocused rage at anything and anyone. Back then, he’d had no power over the system which bound him either, but he’d still raged. It had been a part of him they had begrudgingly accepted rather than encouraged. A part of him they had slowly but surely beaten down and tamed, then bottled and sold.

He slumped down in one of the chairs in the business class lounge. Seeing as he was going to spend a day in the air, he might as well do it in comfort. There was vanity, and then there was just plain practical knowledge.

There was only one other guy in here, apart from the bartender in the lounge bar. Some kind of mutt, or mixer if you wanted to be polite, in a clean, but visibly cheap suit which didn’t fit his lanky frame. Liam’s immediate instinct told him this was another machine part, though not a high ranking one. Some sales representatives, junior for sure, or maybe a lawyer type. Someone who’d struck some good deal, or been bumped up to business, despite how obviously they themselves knew that they didn’t belong here.

Since all Liam travelled with was his shirt, his wallet, and his emotional baggage, he’d gotten himself a random airport thriller from the tax-free shop. He set to reading it in silence. Without his phone or laptop there was not much more to do, so was there anything stopping him from this otherwise very serene activity.

The mutt looked over to him occasionally, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he saw, his eyes drifting from the bull terrier to a magazine on a small table next to where he sat.

Liam could freely study him from behind his sunglasses. He was clean cropped, at least. His caramel-coloured coat reminded Liam of the sort of orange hue that some Rottweilers had. Come to think of it, the mutt had large, bat-like ears like a Doberman. Uncropped, which was a deviation from all the large-eared people Liam knew. Maybe he was biased, but in the industry, it was the fashion. Made you look tough. Liam had never needed to look tough, and the fact that this mixer didn’t feel the need to either did not go unnoticed.

The mutt also had a small, discreet mole on his right cheek, under his fur, from which a few stray whiskers grew. Something they’d likely want to cover up with dyes. The small detail drew attention to the mutt’s eyes, which Liam wasn’t sure was unintentional.

He was reading some newspaper over a pair of slim, rimless reading glasses. He might have thought it made him look cultured and worldly, but it only made him look like he was fifty. He probably didn’t need them for anything other than the very smallest fonts. When the mutt removed them to look up at him again, Liam could see how young he really was.

He was barely out of his teens. He looked uncomfortable, as if he didn’t belong in here. He didn’t, of course, but it was like he didn’t want to be here either. There was a reluctance in his expression, so subtle it was barely noticeable, whenever he looked towards the closed gate. Who didn’t want to fly business class? Maybe he was going back to work? He had a sun faded canvas bag slumped next to the chair he was seated in, which did not match his clothes one bit. It was old and worn, bulging where it had clearly been stuffed with clothes, bearing the outlines of patches and pins, which had subsequently been ripped out, judging from the altogether ragged look of it.

Their eyes met, finally. Liam ought to have known his sunglasses hid his scrutinous eyes, but still he turned away with a sudden jerk. The mutt didn’t take his eyes off him, which must’ve meant he’d guessed Liam had been staring.

All in all, Liam was more noticeable than he’d first assumed, when put against this oddly normal looking dog. Whoever he was, he had at least better access to normal clothes. Liam’s subdued but tailored shirt, his expensive distressed jeans, his scratched Gucci sunglasses, all about him drew the attention of those who might know.

“Going on a holiday?” the mutt asked.

Liam checked around the room to make sure the dog hadn’t talked to anyone else.

“Yeah,” Liam muttered, laconically. He went back to his book and managed to read another two words or so before the dog spoke again.

“You look familiar,” the mutt said. It was the trigger phrase which set off Liam’s bad mood even more.

“You’re thinking about someone else. Lots of bull terriers around. I get it a lot.”

Eight years of mindless fans ripping their clothes off and shouting their love at him from the bottom of a stage or at the red carpets had given Liam no patience at all for small talk. It was a chore to write out just a single autograph; a hollow reminder that any line or word he put to the paper were but unrealised money to some asshole.

The mutt looked away, seemingly focusing on the magazine beside him again, and then looked up. Liam knew what’d happen before the mutt spoke. That wasn’t just any magazine, it was the most recent issue of The Source.

“Mr. Connor?” The mixer hesitated. “Uh… Ell? Is that your-”

“What do you want?” Liam snapped.

“Nothing, I just-”

“I’m not interested,” Liam said coldly, folded his ears back, and put his book up in front of his muzzle again.

The mixer’s ears went down. Liam had seen the expression before. The puppy eyes, the scolded innocent look. He wore the expression as if he was born to it, like how some types of dogs just looked inherently sad all the time. But he did have a suit and a watch which was probably a fake. Whatever he was doing, he can’t have been doing it very well. He had to be some machine part, some business dog of some kind, so Liam couldn’t have any sympathy for him.

For a while the lounge was silent. Liam got in an order for a white Russian, as the time was past five in Russia by now.

“Can I get that for you, sir?” The mixer piped up as Liam was about to reach for his wallet. That was new.

“You sure?” Liam said, forgetting his annoyance momentarily.

The mutt’s ears weren’t back, they were splayed. Despite himself, Liam summoned up enough patience to act like a decent person. In many ways, he put Hollywood to shame with his act. “Might as well, if that’s how you want to do this.”

The mixer got their drinks from the counter, paid and received his receipt.

“Where do you want me to sign it?” Liam sighed, as he accepted the proffered drink.

“Sign?” The mutt... no... the mixer responded, with a genuine look of confusion. “I paid cash, so there’s nothing to sign.”

Liam studied him for a long time.

“Hey,” the mixer continued, “Look, I clearly stepped over some line, so accept my apology, mate.”

“So… no autograph?”

“Did you want to write one?”

“No. fuck that.”

“Sure, mate.” The mixer settled back in his own chair, his ears still firmly splayed, but with a knowing... or rather, understanding expression on his muzzle.

“Yeah,” Liam mumbled. “It was over the line... but you’re the first to actually, you know... get it... So... thanks.”

“I guess,” the mixer said, sipping his drink casually.

Liam figured he should drop the Clint Eastwood act. It was grating, alienating and, he realised, it was a part of what they had made him. A learned response which he ought to kick like his other bad habits.

He had been young and sociable once.

He’d been respectful to those who were respectful to him.

“Heading home?” he asked.

The mixer looked up and threw the magazine back onto the table where he’d found it. He took his drink, a gin sling, light on Gin and heavy on the sling judging from the colour of it. He placed it next to Liam’s and seated himself in a chair across from him.

“That’s right, And you?”

“Eh. Vacation.”

The mixer tilted his head past that slight degree which was considered polite. “You’re going on this flight without carryon?”

“You realise who you are speaking to?” Liam heard himself say, before he could stop himself. A reflex. He was not the famous rapper Elaborate any longer; he was nobody.

“I guess,” the mixer said, and folded his ears to the side again. Liam tried for another angle.

“You’re going to regret taking this trip in a suit, man.”

“You don’t think it’s... suitable?” the mixer smiled awkwardly. “Sorry, mate, it’s a bad joke.”

“Nah, man, chill,” Liam felt his own muzzle twitch at the comment. His reaction came more from his momentarily confounded expectation. He had seen a suit. He’d not expected a person underneath it.

“I’ve been on a few flights. You’d be lucky if you don’t come out the other end looking like a hobo or something. You want simple, lose clothes that don’t ruffle your fur too much. A suit is more of a thing one stands around in, preferably stationary.”

“Don’t worry, big guy,” The mixer smiled, and patted his bag. “I brought change. I’ve made the trip before, so you better believe I’ve learned.”

“Alright, you’ve got this. Cool... So, what is it you do? For work, I mean?”

He had a strange urge to try out his lacking social skills on this hapless dog, in this isolated setting. Worst case scenario, the mixer would stop talking to him, and even that wasn’t so bad. But best case, he’d have a slightly less lonely plane ride, and with the thoughts he’d been having lately, that couldn’t be so bad.

“I’m in the entertainment industry.” The mixer hesitated as he said the words. His green eyes didn’t manage to hold the bull terrier’s own. There wasn’t much pride in his profession.

“I see,” Liam said simply, because he understood.

“What are you going to Australia for?” The mixer asked.

“I don’t know,” Liam said as if he was discussing a bus trip. “Maybe I’ll get off in Sydney? Maybe I’ll get another flight if I feel like it? How long do you suppose one could travel around before someone started wondering what was up?”

“So, leisure?”

“You could call it that.”

“I suppose you guys can just fly around like that, huh?”

The mixer chuckled to himself. Maybe things were easier for him, who probably didn’t realise what sort of burden actual fame was, how little freedom he actually had.

“You’d be surprised what little... us guys... can actually do.” Liam removed his sunglasses and looked the mixer dead into his eyes. “It’s not something to envy, trust me. I’ve left them all behind. I don’t want anything more to do with them.”

“I...” the mixer posited with a careful probing tone, and when Liam nodded, he continued. “You don’t like them? The... uh... the entertainment industry people?”

Liam nodded again, studying the dog in this new, more sympathetic light.

“I feel ya, mate,” The mixer said, and his ears did a quick flick before getting up again to their initial perk. “The industry can be a bitch sometimes, that’s for sure. But there are far worse people out there, so be glad you got out before they got to you. I sure am.”

“You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

The mixer was self-aware, bordering on charming. Or amiable, at least. Charming wasn’t the right word. Whatever. He was decidedly not one of them. Liam raised his glass. “To kindred souls. How did they get ya, in the end?”

“I’d rather not get onto that subject,” the mixer said, with one of those strained smiles which made Liam feel uncomfortable. The bull terrier quickly readjusted what he was going to say.

“Ditto.”

Liam let his ears fold down politely. This dog was a fellow shipwrecked. Awakened one day to find the seemingly solid structure around him smashed against the rocks, left to pick up the pieces as best he could.

“How long are you going away for?” the mixer asked after some awkward silence when the two merely sipped at their drinks.

“I didn’t get a return ticket,” Liam mumbled.

“But you’re going back, right?”

The response came easy, despite hailing from the very depth of his being.

“No.”

Liam sighed, and studied his eyes in the reflection of the sunglasses he held in his paws. Blood shot, tired, and not unaffected by his diet of alcohol, nicotine and drugs. The mixer spoke before he could. “Do you need another drink?”

“That’s the last thing I need,” Liam said.

“And yet you’ve had one already.” The mixer sniffed the air for a second, “or rather- ”

“Okay, okay,” Liam finally admitted. “Get me something lighter, I guess.” He slapped a twenty on the little table between them.

The mixer wandered over to the bar. Liam saw his tail for the first time, a long, thin and pointed thing which hung dead still. He wasn’t one of those who had it cropped, at least. His stature wasn’t tough enough to rock such a look with confidence. Liam tried, and failed, to work out what sort of breeds this mixer was a mix of.

Liam had mostly been surrounded by purebreds. The so-called beautiful. But as he studied the mixer returning with their drinks, he realised that this dog had some kind of poise and natural grace that those beautiful people could only dream about, which shone through his stiff suit. This guy wasn’t just a dude in a suit, in slightly better shape than a regular suit. There was more to it than that.

“It was the first thing I could think of when you said light,” the mixer said as he placed a glass of wine in front of Liam. “It’s good though, trust me.”

“It stains my muzzle, you know… but I’ll try.”

“Oh, I didn’t even think about that, sorry.”

Liam waved his apology away. It probably meant something to the mixer that Liam appreciated the wine. And to be fair, it wasn’t unpleasant, but he’d vomited more fine vintages down backstage toilets than this mixer had probably ever tasted. It was a charming gesture though.

“I’m getting out when the getting is good. That’s pretty much the reason I’m here. But don’t tell anyone, alright? Had enough, can’t stand it all, it’s all shit.”

“Good for you, mate.” The mixer reached out a paw. “My name’s Cally... Yeah, I know, weird name, not my first choice.”

“Hey, it’s a good name, man,” Liam shot in quickly. “Cally flying from Cali. Uh-”

“I’m a Doberman, Shepherd and Staffy mix... mainly. But neither mom nor dad knows exactly.” Cally was probably more used to answering this question than Liam was asking it, judging from his tone.

“Ooh, Mr Globetrotter, eh?” Liam joked. He could see the breeds as Cally mentioned them. The long, narrow Doberman muzzle and slender build, the German shepherd ears and mole on his cheek and the staffie’s brow and wide, friendly eyes. “Cally isn’t short for something is it?”

“It is, but it’s kind of embarrassing, Liam. Can I call you that?”

“If you call me anything else, we’re going to have a problem.”

“Liam, then.” The mixer folded his ears to the side and looked away. “My name is Calvin. But I hate it, and I want to change it.”

“Oh, like the kid with the tiger plush, right?”

“I think I’m named after some kind of philosopher, actually. I don’t know, really, my mom-”

“So, you don’t believe in the self-authentication of the scripture? I mean, the bible has a lot of crazy shit in it, sure, but to challenge the Vatican?”

Liam smiled at the mixer. He was easy to like, as most dogs were to other dogs.

“Wh- excuse me?” Cally said, flicking his ears uncertainly.

“John Calvin,” Liam said, correcting Cally’s pronunciation. “He was theologian, actually, not a philosopher, per say.”

“Huh?”

“You know, Calvinism? Like, a strain of Christianity? That was his thing.”

Cally blinked a few times, before regaining control of his jaw.

“Why do you, of all people, know that?”

“What do you mean, me of all people?”

“I thought you were some kind or rapper or something?”

“Yes, and so?” Liam replied, playfully obstinate.

“Yeah, but I mean,” Cally hesitated. “Rap, I mean, it’s... well it’s... look, come on, mate... You heard what they rap about, right?”

Liam was torn between being offended or laughing.

“You’ve not heard my songs, have you?”

“No, to be honest.” Cally gave an innocent smile and splayed his ears apologetically. “My brother used to rave on about you when he was younger, but I think he’s moved on now. I haven’t talked to him in a while, so I don’t know if he’s still into it.”

“Younger brother?” Liam asked, “Teenager?” When Cally nodded, he continued. “My lyrics seemed to hit that demographic quite well. But I guess it doesn’t reach everyone. ”

“So, you make kids’ music?”

Liam shook his head. “Not... Well… Kids aren’t kids, you know. I don’t make music for little babies... but kids who don’t see themselves as kids. Some kids have to grow up real fast, maybe move away from their parents, maybe tough out adult problems. They’re still kids, and kids’ lives are in constant flux. They can’t experience their culture quick enough. I make music for those kids who never stay still, who are constantly told to focus in class and stop making noise, who doesn’t have time to think. The kids who miss out on life. And then they’re old, the bus has gone, and they’re left behind in this world. That’s who I make music for.”

“Jesus, man,” Cali said slowly. “I mean, when you put it like that-”

“It all comes back to depression, I guess. In one form or another. and Class... division of class strips people of their empathy.” Liam felt his tail starting to bat behind him, thankfully hidden from view. He rarely got to talk about his lyrics to someone who didn’t immediately make it about themselves instead. “It’s not the money, it’s the freedom that comes with it which decides if you’re able to be happy or not, you know. It makes you wonder what that says about our system. Being happy costs money. The rest, you can imagine for yourself.”

Cally scratched his chin. “My brother went on about this one song you’ve made, apparently it was something like… The Lucent Gutter?”

“The Lucrative Gutter,” Liam corrected.

“That’s the one.” Cally crossed his legs and leaned back with the confidence of someone who thought he knew.

“That’s an interesting one, if I may,” Liam said. “It’s about the entertainment industry, you know. Them. A story of a celebrity, who is dealing with a disillusioning existential breakdown, while striving on in his life. How everyone he thought was his friends were only after his money and fame. Everything he created has just been another product to be consumed and thrown away. Now constantly aware that everything that is good in his life is someone else’s doing, and everything bad is his own, he struggles to reconcile this with the ideal he once held.”

Liam smiled on the outside, because he saw that Cali hadn’t been prepared for it. But the story was somewhat uncomfortable. He’d not realised then that he’d been writing about himself, which made the rest of his explanation wilt on his tongue as he strove on.

“The dog who could dance under water without becoming wet,” he continued. “In their eyes, he could never do anything wrong. The things he thought he’d failed at, they were illusions in his own mind, mere mirages which he chased blindly because they told him. The system wasn’t meant to reward him; he couldn’t win. But he’d gone through a personal development. A staggering journey, you see, which he couldn’t appreciate before it was too late. So he got up. And he left them. And maybe, he survived them, or maybe he didn’t.”

“Man, that’s strong stuff,” Cally said with uncertainty thick in his voice. “Are you sure the average 14-year-old should be listening to that?”

“That’s for your parents to decide,” Liam said with a smile. “I think they should. You know, kids struggle with these things too. Depression and disillusion can start way before a kid develops the maturity to realise what they’re going through. I guess I’m just trying to say that I understand them, and that they’re not alone. It’s not abnormal, in fact, it’s as real and true an emotion as anything else.”

“I guess I see your point.” Cally’s ears flicked. “Is it the truth?”

“As far as I am concerned,” Liam suddenly said, knowing full well that he was talking way too much, so he stopped himself.

“But... but is it true to you?” Cally asked. “Are you the... the dog who could dance under water?”

Liam wasn’t quite sure how to answer that question, and not sure he was prepared to, either. “Everything which we perceive is true in some way or other, Cally.”

“No, I mean-”

“Are you sure you want to know that?” Liam asked pointedly. “Here’s what I know: I’m Liam Connor, I used to write stories, and they made a lot of kids think about their place in the world. Because of this, I can’t say I’ve failed, no matter what definition you operate on. But I can’t say I’ve succeeded in what I set out to do, either. Maybe the song is true to me. But it doesn’t matter, because it’s true to someone out there.”

“You’ve lost me, Liam,” Cally said slowly, but he wasn’t dismissive. It was more like some clash of assumption and reality, which momentarily seemed to throw Cally off balance. “Maybe it’s just a bit too early in the morning to get my head around these things, but I think you’re a bit above my head right now.”

“It’s alright Cal.” Liam couldn’t think of a single person in his old circles who would willingly admit that they didn’t understand something. “I get a bit carried away sometimes. I’d be more worried if it really connected with you because then you’d not be a happy person. But you seem to have your life together.”

“I guess I’m presenting well, then.” Cal laughed. “I admit I’ve had the wrong impression of you all for the longest time. I thought you were all just a bunch of materialistic cunts. Then again, I never listened to rap, I only had dad’s old rock CDs growing up.”

He was already tipsy after two small drinks. Then again, few people on the west coast had indulged like Liam had; he could probably still walk straight, despite having knocked back more drinks today than he could count on both paws.

“You didn’t really get it all that wrong,” Liam laughed. He actually drew back his lips and let himself laugh, a real, genuine laugh. “A lot of the other ones are a bunch of assholes, that’s for sure. But I feel sorry for them more than anything else. Lost potential, there’s the phrase. Some of us aren’t so bad though. Some of us actually read actual books.” Liam waved the airport thriller he’d bought. “So long as there are lots of guns and speedboats on the covers. What did you listen to, growing up?”

“Oh, you know. Led Zep, AC/DC, all the old cronies. You know, mate.”

“Yeah, I know them,” Liam said, because he probably did. He had a few faint memories of a music event somewhere, at least; a bunch of gnarly old guys who could, and would, drink hand sanitizer and kerosene without any ill effects. They might have been old rockers, come to think of it. “Is that the sort of stuff you listen to still?”

“Eh, no,” Cally said, flicking his ears.

“It’s okay, I’ve heard all the excuses before. I won’t judge. Come on, man, what’s your poison?”

“Well, my work usually plays a lot of EDM.”

“Doesn’t sound like it’s your thing, from the way you said that.”

“I kinda’ like the… opera.”

“Oh, really?” Liam asked. He couldn’t help but letting incredulity into his voice. “By your own choice or... was it a bet?”

“It’s pretty silly, isn’t it?”

“I’ve got a Pavarotti LP kicking around. Put it on every Christmas.”

“Really?” Cally’s tail started batting. “I’ve always admired him. He’s got such a range. Greatest tenor in our time.”

Liam tried to beam as much amiability as he could to the mixer, and hoped his tired eyes didn’t betray him.

“You’re not on the stage, are you?” he asked. “Singing, I mean? Was that what you did?”

“No, not that kind of stage,” Cally shook his head. “I dance some... modern dance, as a kind of a job, you know. Helped pay the bills... Came here to see if I could hack it, long ago.” The mixer’s eyes go wide for a moment, before he settles back into a wistful default.

“You don’t say.” Liam had never known any male dancers who could make a living of it. But he hadn’t been looking for them, either. “What kind of dancing is that then?”

“It’s private, kinda, sorry.”

“It’s okay, don’t mind me,” Liam said. Private dancing? Well, they existed, but suggesting that Cally was one would be insulting. He was about to get up to find the bar, but at that moment the speaker came on across the lounge.

“Business Class Passengers, please prepare for boarding. The gate will open presently. Please remember to keep your ticket and passport ready for inspection and pay careful attention to the safety briefing once you have boarded. We remind you that this will be a no smoking flight.”

“Oh... fuck,” Liam muttered. He looked uneasily across the table to the dog, but there were no yellow traces on his claws or snout, no smell of cigarettes to his fur. No hint of any outlines of smoke packs which he could sneak into the airline toilets. And he had of course not brought his own. But despite about six or seven internal voices shouting at him, he followed Cally on board.

While Cally darted into the airplane’s bathrooms to change, Liam boarded, found his seat and sprawled out in it.

“Mr. Connor, may I disturb you for a second?”

A flight attendant, a small, attractive looking fennec lady had her ears cupped towards him.

“I apologize for the inconvenience...”

Her big fennec ears splayed, she leant over the aisle seat next to him.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Liam asked, hiding his nervousness under a layer of that good mood Cally had instilled in him.

“I was just wondering... I’ve got a son at home, he’s a big fan of yours. I’m awfully sorry to ask, but could I-”

“Let me just stop you there, miss… Cristine,” Liam said, studying her name plaque. But then he had an idea, and stopped his train of thought, quickly rerouting it to a different line. “On one condition, okay? Listen. There’s another passenger in here. That mixer, who went to the bathroom just now. I want the seat next to him, as if I ordered it. He won’t mind, I promise.”

“I think that could be arranged. Thank you.” Cristine went away and returned a moment later. “Would you like to take the seat now? It’s 3C, Isle.”

“Thank you, Christine,” Liam said, and pulled a note from his notepad, scribbling his name in an illegible but instantly recognizable paw. In the hopes that it wouldn’t be sold, he added a personal appeal to the note after asking about the son’s name, before handing it to the fennec.

He slid down into the seat which she’d indicated, but almost immediately after, he had to get out again.

“Liam! Fancy seeing you here!” Cally came over to his seat and stuffed his lap-top bag under the seat next to the little window. “I was sure I’d gotten the only seat on this row.”

“Yeah, I just told them to give me any seat. So, I ended up in this one.” The lie was entirely unnecessary, but it was probably weirder to say the truth.

Cally had changed to a more comfortable looking pair of sweatpants, paired with a loose t-shirt with a very deep cut neck, showing the world that his caramel hue continued down his chest. He looked comfortable in these clothes, relaxed, almost enviably so. They also hung very loosely on him, so whenever he moved or shifted, his narrow frame would show off very clearly through the folds.

“Nice threads,” Liam mumbled. “You ready?”

“Sure, when do they put on the movies?”

“Movies?” he laughed. “Right, you didn’t travel business when you got up here.”

“Maybe not, but they had movies on the TV in the middle isle. I remember watching Miami Vice without the sex scene on my way over here the first time.”

“That’s a crime!” Liam exclaimed, laughing along with the mixer. “They really butcher the movies, I know. Makes me wonder what an actual porno would look like if it was cut for airline consumption.”

“It would look like a French art-house film, probably!” Cally laughed. Liam could tell that Cally had no idea what he was talking about, but it was endearing and down to earth, and he found himself enjoying himself more than he’d done for as long as he could recall.

“Didn’t you say you’d show me some of your songs?”

The question came somewhere above the pacific, after they’d cleared the coastline.

“Did I?” Liam asked, suddenly feeling slightly strange. It was always awkward trying to get people interested in music they hadn’t grown up with.

“Yeah, you did, Liam. Come on now!” Cally said, when Liam didn’t reply in time. He sounded a like how any party goer would sound after they met him, slightly drunk, enthusiastic, energetic. “I’ll make you a deal, alright? I’ll tell you about my dancing, if you tell me about your music.”

“I was going to tell you, anyways,” Liam chuckled. “Why, is it something that’s difficult to talk about?”

“If you only knew,” Cally said enigmatically, and Liam found that he was curious. “Now, show me.”

Cally shifted in his seat, and fished out a visibly beaten up, older model phone, but with all the relevant apps present and up to date. Liam took the phone Cally proffered and found his artist’s profile and track listing on Spotify. He was pleased to see The Lucrative Gutter near the top, but it also annoyed him that his other most popular songs were some of the older ones. For lack of a better word, they were traditional rap songs, which the majority of his fans had presumably grown up with. He didn’t put any of them on. They weren’t representative. Instead, he queued a few songs from his personal selection, and a song which he’d composed the music for himself. He was pleased to see Cally’s head bob along to the tinny beat which came out from the mixer’s cheap earbuds.

It was simply called “That Song” to him. It had originally been a novella. He’d dropped some speed and worked on if for 36 hours, then spent almost a year perfecting it, and turning it into lyrics. It went the same way as with The Lucrative Gutter, in the end_,_ and down much the same path. A scalding critique of the world Liam perceived around himself, but when translated to song it naturally gained some ambiguity, turning into an otherwise nice party song. He knew exactly where in the song Cally was, and was slightly disappointed when he saw that his favorite line seemed to be lost on the mixer. Cally just stared out of his window. He didn’t react to the song at all, just bobbed his head, muzzle pointed towards the vast blue pacific.

After that came a more upbeat song, or at least more upbeat to Liam’s sensibilities. An old fighting song about the corrupt government and the injustice the poor faced. It had an interesting irony, because he had come up with the lyrics about crushing the industry and tearing down the system while cruising from Nice to Monaco in a rented Aston Martin, on his way to party on some rick prick’s yatch. Cally didn’t need to know that. Too much detail, which would distance their worlds from each other.

They spent enjoyable hours going over the lyrics for the songs. Cally conceded that there was artistic value to them, though at several points he labelled them angsty, and “edgy”, and made for kids going through puberty. His critique was something Liam hadn’t been prepared for. He’d been critiqued before, by them, mostly, not by someone who sounded like they actually cared about his feelings.

“Perhaps you should try to write something more ambitious than rap lyrics,” Cally said. “You clearly know what you’re doing, but this format doesn’t suit that. Or... maybe it does, but you said yourself that you hate how nobody seems to recognize it. How about something with broader appeal to the people you want to appeal to? You know, only so many people listen to rap in the first place.”

“Maybe I could.” Liam sighed. “But I’m done with all that though. I was good. The best, depending on how you see it. Elaborate, they called me. It was just a brand to them, you know. I don’t want to sell myself like that, ever again.”

“You can’t just put down the art like that, though. It’s like... a creative outlet. Don’t stop writing or bad shit might happen. Got to have that escape. At least I know I have to.”

“It’s still work, though.” Liam sighed, handing Cally’s phone back to him. “Whatever I write, whether I show it to anyone or not, it’ll be turned into money for some undeserving prick in the end. But it’s all I know, right?” He ordered himself another whisky from the passing hostess. “I’ve had to whore myself out for that money if I wanted to live, to people who wouldn’t care if I lived or died. It’s so… fake.”

“Fake?” Cally tilted his head with a strange look on his face. A curiously serene, contemplative half smile combined with a distant stare. “Sounds to me like it’s more real than any other job. At least you’re constantly aware that you’re being used. Not everyone is that lucky.”

“I’d like it better if my work wasn’t so real,” Liam groaned. “I’m an artist you know, I create my own stories and reality. But my reality has always been slightly beyond my control. I feel a little... helpless. Does that make any sense?”

“I get ya,” Cally sighed. “Trust me, I know just how you feel.”

“How can you know?” Liam asked then, “What is it you do, exactly?”

The mixer hesitated, but he cleared his throat unnecessarily, and mumbled, “I, eh... I work in a strip club.”

“Is that it?” Liam asked. “Which one? I’ve been to them all, I’ve probably met you before. I won’t say I recall all the bartenders, but I remember most of the bouncers, don’t ask how I know. We might have met before.”

“It’s the... uh... The Cocked Pistol.”

“Never heard of that one, is it out of town?”

“Oh, it’s out there, alright.” Cally fidgeted nervously.

“Come on, tell me, man. You promised me you’d tell me.”

“It’s a gay strip club, Liam.” Cally looked as uncomfortable as he’d done in his suit back in the lounge.

“Oh, shit, uh... cool... Cool.”

They had never prepared him for this, with their champagne liberal views. Nobody had ever actually been gay in his circles, and if they had, they’d been the sort of TV-sanitized gays Liam knew instinctually weren’t the real stuff. They’d made a show and dance about how liberal their views were, but in Liam’s experience, none of them actually meant it. Seeing as they clearly had some kind of issue with gays, Liam had decided all of his own that he didn’t. He used to hang around a lot of people with very crude lyrics; Hollywood types, Directors who’d gotten flak in the press for discriminating against gay actors, Agents who’d intentionally kept gays out of prominent contracts. Actresses who kept gay friends solely for all their followers on social media. Liam had said goodbye to that part of his life.

“I’m cool with you, Cally,” Liam said, tasted the words in his muzzle, and found nothing objectionable. “How was that like? Working in a gay strip club I mean?”

“I didn’t work the counter, to put it like that... well on some occasions, I danced on it.”

“You strip... oh, so that was what you meant. Modern dance... Oh man!” Liam almost broke out in a laugh, but he stopped himself. He looked the uncomfortable mixer up and down again. “Are you any good?”

“Oh, Christ,” Cally groaned. Nothing unusual to Liam, who had seen his fair share of awkward kids trying to get to grips with what they just said to the multi-platinum rapper in front of them.

“Hey, it’s cool, Cal. We all have to make a living somehow, it’s cool. I’ve helped pay a lot of girls through college through the medium of panty string. I’m no hypocrite... in that regard at least.”

“You’re not weirded out or anything?”

“Pfft. You aint seen half the shit I’ve seen,” Liam scoffed and flicked his ears disarmingly.

Cally just nodded, a tight expression on his muzzle.

“What was your stripper name? Did you do those surveys, you know… first letter of your name is C and the month you’re born in is… say, the 9th. That means your name is something like chocolate strawberry or whatever?”

“No, Jesus,” Cally mumbled, but he got a slight smile back on his lips. “That’s dumb. I’m just Cally.”

The embarrassment Cally probably felt was a product of their system. Their dualistic standards. It was the embarrassment they wanted all artists to feel. Not a real job, they said, without a hint of irony, and used that as some sort of excuse. But there was a true art to the dance, to any performance, which went above their heads. Even stripping.

“I’ll come up with one for you one of these days, it’s cool!” Liam smiled. “So how is the market for stripping in Australia? It’s popular there too? Is it why you’re getting out of here?”

“Not exactly,” Cally said, “I have a friend who joined a club back home. Been thinking about it for a while now, and it was about time I got back home. I just miss the place, I guess. Maybe I’ll sign up for Uni even. I don’t know.”

“Oh, good on you,” Liam said, reflexively, but he found that he meant it. “What are you signing up for?”

“I want to sing. But on like... the stage.”

“Makes sense, do you plan on singing opera, then?”

“I really want to.” Cally splayed his ears and looked away. “I’ll sing anything. Put me in a musical even, heck. Anything that’ll get me away from the clubs, you know?”

“They teach you that stuff in university?”

“I think so. I just never had the time before now. I’ve led a very... busy life...”

Cali suddenly went silent. When Liam looked across to him, he suddenly had his eyes fixed on the horizon. Liam drained his glass; he felt tipsy now.

“It’ll work itself out, you’ll see,” Liam said, and let the mixer keep his secrets. “I’m going to get some sleep, if that’s cool with you.”

He leaned back his seat without waiting for an answer, put his sunglasses back on his muzzle, and stretched out in his seat. Cally sighed as he put his earbuds back in.

Liam woke up somewhere around the tail end of the flight. The pacific was green and lush underneath him. The sun was just where it had been when he went to sleep, around midday, but his clock told him that it was 9PM, and that he’d slept for about ten hours.

Cally seemed reserved, still. Deep in thought, perhaps, or maybe he’d just not gotten any sleep himself. He decided to give the mixer some space for what little there was left of the flight.

When Liam’s Breitling said that the time was 12PM, and the sun was dipping slightly closer to the horizon outside, the captain came on across the speakers to announce that they were close to land. The bull terrier set his clock to the local time which the captain announced and glanced across to his fellow passenger.

Cally had fallen asleep, slumped against the head rest which separated their seats, breathing gently on Liam’s shoulder. He had his dainty arms folded in his lap, and Liam could see that his fake watch was not even set for daylight savings time, let alone corrected for the right time zone. He could just fix that. The dog’s wrist was really close, just there, in his lap. Liam stopped himself. For Christ’s sake. Cally was a grown ass dog, he could fix his own watch. Liam nudged him awake.

“We’re landing soon.”

“Oh, fuck, already-” A yawn broke in and interrupted him. “Already? How long did I sleep?”

“A few hours, I guess,” Liam said. Those few hours had given him more than enough time to step back and consider the things this dog had told him. There was a glaring omission in his narrative.

“Uhm… by the way,” Liam said, trying to sound as casual and offhanded. “I’ve been wondering. How come a stripper can afford business class?”

“How come you ask?” Cally retorted. “I got bumped up, that’s how.”

“Alright,” Liam said, hesitating at the word. “You were in the lounge, so you got bumped up before you came aboard?”

“I paid for it, then. What I do with my money is my business,” Cally said, slightly sharper than Liam had been prepared for. “How about we talk about something else?”

Liam backed down and splayed his ears for good measure.

“Alright, sorry, man… just a question…”

“I don’t...” Cally mumbled. “I have my reasons, just like you.”

Two-and-a-bit hours of sleep on a fifteen-hour flight can’t have been enough for the mixer. Perhaps Cally was just one of those who woke up in a bad mood. Liam wasn’t, because he’d just beaten jetlag thanks to his sleep of the dead. His long time spent living his short life had come with at least some benefits.

The plane landed at around seven in the afternoon, and they headed to the arrival’s hall where Cally had to pick up his luggage. Liam had none, of course, but he decided to follow along anyways.

“Alright… This is it, it would seem,” Cally said, having scooped up a sun-faded bag from the conveyor belt and hefted it onto his shoulder. That bag definitely looked out of place with the suit Liam remembered him in but looked just right along with the canvas laptop bag Cally bore on his other shoulder. He casually held his paw over a colourful flag patch, one which Liam could recognize at least. It must have been another reflex. Liam couldn’t just let Cally go around thinking that about him. The new Liam was a kind guy, who respected those who respected him.

As they were about to leave, he put his paw out for Cally to shake. “You’re a cool guy. Wanna keep in touch?”

He fished out a travel brochure from the nearest stand at random, scanned it quickly for hotels and selected what looked like the nicest one. “I’ll be staying at this one.” With the pen he always carried around for autographs, he circled the hotel, and handed the brochure over to the mixer, before taking another one from the stand to see which one he’d selected.

“Oh, I... thanks, I guess,” Cally said hesitatingly, but Liam saw that his tail had just the slightest hint of a wag going on. However, before they could exchange more details, something caught his Cally’s eyes over Liam’s shoulder, and he waved to someone by the exit. His tail stiffened with alertness and attention. “That’s my ride, I got to run. It was nice meeting you, Liam!”

“Yeah, see you around Cally.”

Liam watched as this kind and sweet dog left with a similarly built, black and tan, half breed Doberman. Probably his father, or other kind of family. Liam looked back to the brochure and lowered his shoulder. There was no knowing whether or not he’d ever see the guy again, and that made him feel sadder than he’d been prepared to feel. Cally had been a breath of fresh air in his day. And he hadn’t thought about cigarettes for the entire flight.

It was a different kind of heat, a more oppressive, all-consuming kind of heat. The kind of heat which, in any other city in the world, stopped everything, and yet here it seemed like it was just another day.

Liam got in a taxi, which took him from the airport to the hotel he’d selected. On the way, he stopped by an electronics store and bought himself a new phone with an Australian number. There were no numbers to put in it for now, but the empty contact’s list gleamed with potential and promise. While he was at it, he bought a basic laptop with a word processor already installed, in case he needed to write. He had a feeling he might.

The hotel lobby completely failed to hold Liam’s attention, which was so unusual to him that he had to look again. It looked as fleeting and new as anything in this country. Industrial-inspired features and flowing natural lines, clashing with hard geometric shapes. As meaningless and insubstantial as anything Liam could think of, and it delighted him.

“Hey,” he said to the clerk behind the counter, a possum in a uniform as forgettable as the interior around them. “I’d like a room, a nice one with a view.”

“Single or double?”

“Double,” Liam heard himself say. He had no plans to hook up with anyone. But he reasoned, with a voice loud enough to drown out all the others in his mind, that he’d need the extra space.

“Currently the only room which meets those requirements, available for long term stay, is the honeymoon suite.” The possum looked around the lobby for someone Liam might have been on a honeymoon with but came up blank.

“I’ll take it.”

“Very well sir, it’ll be ready in a few hours. May I have your card details, please?”

Liam handed his card to the possum and placed the laptop he’d just bought in the hotel’s storage locker.

In an attempt to kill a few hours, he set up his new phone and used it to look for a nearby place to explore. Half an hour later, he stepped into a regular, no-brand clothing store where he picked out some no-brand clothes as well as a pair of colourful patterned shorts instead of his habitual jeans. He’d not worn shorts since he was a little cub. Industry suits and professionals didn’t wear colourful shorts, which just made him pick them out with more determination. His white kicks too were slightly too warm for this weather as well, so he got some ten-dollar sandals from a bargain bin. He was just about to throw away his old clothes when he picked out the scent on his shirt. The scent of Cally. The shirt went back into one of his shopping bags, and his old clothes went into the nearest garbage can. New Liam grew newer and more different with every passing moment.

People down here either didn’t expect him, or had grown used to seeing heavily painted, large and muscular dogs all the time, because he didn’t notice anyone looking at him while he walked the streets. Nobody called after him. Nobody came up and demanded an autograph. He felt normal, like he hadn’t felt for years. When his hunger and thirst caught up with him, he used the GPS app on his phone, which thankfully remembered where he’d been, to get back to his hotel.

After dropping off his shopping in his room, he found his way to the hotel restaurant, where he took a table before he was seated. Some habits were more difficult to shift than others.

“Would you like to see the menu?” a voice came from behind him.

“Yes, please, I-” Liam stopped dead in his tracks as he caught sight of the waiter. It was Cally. But it wasn’t. It was a dog almost identical to the mixer he’d befriended on his flight. So much so that he had to look a second and third time. But it couldn’t be Cally. Cally didn’t have tits.

“Excuse me?” the girl said, confused. “Is something wrong, sir?”

“N-no,” Liam stammered, caught completely off guard. Was Cally’s mix of breeds common here? Liam had never seen anyone even slightly like him, and now he’d seen two in as many days. “You just looked like someone... Never mind.”

“I will bring you the menu then,” she said, nonplussed, and walked away.

Liam followed her with his eyes, and saw the same long, pointy tail as Cally had, the same long, perked ears, and the same narrow, slim build. She did have more flaring hips and the aforementioned tits, but that was all. Come to think of it, she looked really good. Only just on the right side of twenty, but that hadn’t stopped Liam before. She could probably be a model; one of those odd mixes of breeds that just sort of resonate with people. Where she differed from Cally was in her posture, weirdly. Despite being a girl, she lacked the feminine grace and confidence Cally had displayed. She wasn’t butch, or anything. But seemingly not very particular about her presentation. Of course, she’d probably never worked a day as a stripper, so that would make sense. Even so, Liam kept his eyes on the spot she’d been long after she’d disappeared from view. He knew better than to flirt with any waiting staff who would be handling his food for the next few weeks however, so he stopped his train of thought dead before it could derail on its own accord.

He shifted from the hotel restaurant to the bar with practiced ease after his meal, getting in his first of a long line of orders which would let him keep his buzz, and hopefully, sleep through the night. His bartender had been a wallaby in a stiff collared shirt and waistcoat whose shift ended not long after Liam arrived. The bartender who replaced him was no other than the mixer girl who had served him in the restaurant.

In an effort to distract himself while he accustomed himself to her, he checked the news on his phone. No big headlines as of yet, but he didn’t dare check Pitchfork or Rolling Stone quite yet. They would be on it immediately, and then, all hell would break lose. And before he knew it, night came for him, and more unexpectedly, his own tiredness.

Morning on day two in Sydney. He was sober, as clear headed as he’d ever get so early in the day, and the desire for another smoke was so powerful he felt like he could punch something. With a heavy sigh, he stepped out of the shower, and grabbed a towel. He could do this; he could kick it. He skipped breakfast and headed out, pushing his sunglasses back on his muzzle to hide his blood shot eyes, in search of a quiet, secluded place where he could watch the world and think.

There were plenty of cafes to choose from in the random area where he was dropped off by the taxi, but they were all full of smiling people chattering and making noise, and little cubs, pups and kits running around. He had specifically asked the driver for the sort of places normal tourists didn’t go, but this seemed like some high street of some kind. Liam tried a few back streets, walking up and down them until he’d thoroughly lost himself in the mess. This place didn’t seem as polarised as LA. He didn’t feel wary or on guard, even when he wandered down the kind of streets which would be bad news back home. He didn’t get that retching sense of hate when he looked at the front row establishment where the rich assholes sat. They didn’t even look that rich, really. Down one of the narrow side streets, he found what he was looking for. A district which looked more residential, with lots of narrow streets and a lot of colourful shops and establishments. He found a corner café with almost no customers inside, which he decided he’d try out.

“Hey, can I get a coffee,” he asked, as soon as he got in the door. “A proper one, not watered out with any of that milk or cream shit.”

He smiled disarmingly at the barista, a rat with heavily pierced ears and some kind of coloured dye job on her cheeks. She turned and set to working the coffee machine with a nod and a smile.

“Cool little place you got here,” Liam mused casually as she worked. Taking in the polaroids hanging on the wall behind the counter, the worn, heavy oiled furniture which looked as if it had come off an old ship, and the general run down and punk aesthetic of its interior, Liam found he genuinely meant it. It was a unique kind of effortlessly cool. Not a place for influencers or trend chasers. Things of consequence had happened here. Countless stories could be imagined from the scratches, nicks and wear of the furnishings. There wasn’t any pretence, no faux retro or manufactured patina. It was as real and down to earth a place as Liam had ever been in.

“Here’s your coffee, that’ll be 4 dollarydoos, none of that watered down, American monopoly money shit here.” She reflected his smile, handing him a steaming cup on a platter. A service-industry smile. Bottled and sold, sure, but still pleasant, like Coke.

“You take credit cards, right? I aint got any monopoly money on me.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. It’s just that tourists usually come in with cash, and some of your compatriots think your weird paper money work everywhere, so I have to make sure.”

“What makes you think I’m a tourist?” Liam asked, sniffing at his cup. It smelled strong and pure, and for a moment, his urge for cigarettes was manageable.

She chimed with a pleasant tone, cocksure but also sweet and accommodating, “Those shorts.” She smacked her tongue, “You’re an American tourist.”

“One out of two, I guess,” Liam said. “I’m not a tourist... but I am from North Hollywood.”

“Ooh, fancy… I guess. I don’t know what it means when you’re from the north of Hollywood.”

“It means I live… I mean used to live... My parents live in north Hollywood, I guess.”

“You don’t live there anymore?”

“Nah, I’ve moved,” Liam said. “I live in this city now, as of yesterday evening.”

“Oh, cool. Welcome to Australia. The next one is on the house.”

“Uh, thanks,” Liam said, and his tail wagged. This barista didn’t even sound like she knew who he was.

“That’s a cool dye-job you’ve got there. I like the colours, they suit you.” He pointed to her cheek, where horizontal bars of teal and pink stood out against her grey and white fur

“Hah, yeah. They do, don’t they?” The rat smiled one of those private smiles while she cleaned the counter. “You’ve got some elaborate dye on yourself, too.” She nodded towards Liam’s exposed arms. “I’m impressed, that can’t have been a quick job.”

“Thirty-two hours in the chair,” Liam recalled with a melancholic smile. “The artist who did it OD’d in ‘13. I think I’m the only guy in the world with this much of his ink on me. Skunk, named Troy-G... I mean Trev... Trevor.”

No nicknames for the dead. But it was just a name. They hadn’t been that close, and the skunk’s death hadn’t really affected him too much, even when others seemed to think that it should.

“Oh, shit. Sorry to hear,” she said. “His work looks awesome, mate. Really nice!”

“Thanks. You guys say that a lot... mate... I just noticed.”

“It’s like a comma, really. If you get a bit out of the city, it’s replaced with the word cunt, but it’s still just as affectionate.” She laughed. She had a soft, cute laugh, and Liam felt himself lighten up even more. The coffee was pretty good here, too. Hopefully this wasn’t a popular spot, because Liam figured it was almost perfect for him to retreat to.

“Do you run this place on your own?”

“Yeah,” she said, glancing to the street. “Not so much traffic these days. The community usually hang out in those book cafés on George Street, you know. A few regulars still hang, but most of’em go to the big chains.”

“The community?”

“The community... this is a queer friendly space.”

“Oh!” Liam exclaimed sheepishly. “I had no idea.”

“I almost guessed at that,” she said, laughing that sweet laugh again. “With that shirt and shorts combo.” She handed him his free coffee as if to indicate a friendly atmosphere despite the cheeky tone. Her smile was not so service-worker-adjacent any longer, Liam figured.

“Oh… uhm, no. If I understand you correctly… I am not.”

“No worries, big guy!” the rat laughed, and stretched out a paw across the counter. “LGBTQ friendly doesn’t mean straight hostile, you know. I’m Alex, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Liam... Liam Connor.” He smiled and took her paw. She had a firmer grip than he’d expected, but that might be because her eyes fixed on him and her expression changed slightly.

“Really? I’ve heard that name before, I think… Maybe I’m just confusing you with someone else.”

“Yeah. I get that a lot.”

He’d rather be whoever he was right now, than whoever Alex might have heard about. Because who he was now could, and would, ask things that the other Liam wouldn’t have.

“Hey… I’m sorry if this sounds weird and all, coming from a straight guy, but you’re not... you’re a... a queer, was that what you called it?”

The rat’s smile froze with confusion for a second, but she reaffirmed it just as quickly. As Liam watched her stew on the question, he hoped he hadn’t scared her like he’d clearly scared Cally on the flight.

“I’m definitely not straight,” she said finally.

“First of all, I’m totally cool with it, okay… totally cool, and hey, I’m-”

“Just get to the point, big guy,” she said with a weary smile. “I’ve heard it all, you know. I’m not into guys. If you were going to ask, then-”

“No, of course not.” Liam quickly moved on, before he risked losing her goodwill. “I was just curious. Is queer a nice thing to say? I always heard it in less kind settings... guess it probably is?”

“You can call us that, I suppose, but a few of the older guys aren’t too keen on it.”

“Those colour things on your cheek, then, they’re... something relating to that?”

The rat brought two fingers up to her cheek, where the colours streaked her fur.

“You don’t know what these represent?” She asked. “Yeah... it’s something to do with queer folks, for sure.”

“I’m sorry,” Liam said, honestly. “I’ve not been that good at paying attention to these things. I never really met any of you guys… apart from just recently.”

The rat broke out in that lovely laugh again. “Us guys, you say?”

“Or... you know... the community? I dunno.”

Liam’s ears folded back. He’d lived his life among people who said all kinds of fucked up stuff. Past Liam would’ve said those fucked up things too, but he didn’t want to set a foot wrong here. He liked this place. It was cosy, and Alex was first and foremost a kind soul, whatever else she was.

“You’ve done well enough so far, and you sound like you want to continue in that vein.” Alex smiled, putting a small plate with a cupcake next to his coffee, seemingly not expecting pay, but Liam threw his card on the table none the less. They didn’t tip here apparently, but the card machine gave him the option to write in his price, so he threw in a twenty extra, just to make sure.

“Thank you, Liam,” She beamed, and it seemed as if she accepted the tip as an invitation to carry on the discussion. “I’m not the first queer person you meet, surely?”

“Well... I sat next to this guy on the plane yesterday. I think he was gay. He worked-” Liam stopped himself. Cally had definitely treated his work as if it was some kind of secret. Maybe it was a secret from this community, too? “I think he danced or something. But he was really nice to me, and he wanted to study something with music. Musicals, I think. Or singing or dancing, I can’t remember.”

“Yeah, sounds like one of us guys,” She smiled. “Did you like him?”

“What… no, no, I mean. He was cool, and we talked, but… you know… I’m not about that, you know. That aint me.”

“Fair enough,” she said, with a smile on her muzzle which Liam couldn’t help but try to interpret the meaning of. He merely shrugged when he might once have been insulted to belligerence by the insinuation. New Liam would treat that suspicion as if it was a suspicion that his fur was black or that the sky was green. This gave him the confidence to treat his next question as if it was another subject he researched.

“Where do they all... the community... go?”

“Go? To hell, I guess, or wherever they hang out, I don’t know.” Alex snickered, she washed her paws and poured herself a coffee, which she sipped from daintily. “We’re not some hive-mind. We’re all just people, milling around until we die or disappear.”

“No, I mean… bars… clubs, uh… entertainment? You know. Where do people hang out? When they’re not here, I mean.” Liam felt his cheeks flush, and heat rising to his ears, where his pink skin was achingly visible. He had no idea why he’d asked, but he knew exactly what to ask.

“Oh, right,” Alex said, tapping her nose in that knowing way. “There’s plenty of places to go downtown. You’ve got a few bars and clubs. There’s a strip joint and a few swingers’ clubs, some casual meetup spots, BDSM clubs, peep shows, Don’t do those, they’re not really all that... and then there’s-”

“Okay, okay, that’s more than I needed to know,” Liam put his paws up defensively. But it was exactly what he had wanted to know. Alex maintained a smile, paw still poised to rattle off more alternatives. “It’s not because I’m interested in dudes, Alex. It’s... research... Any strip joints with guys?”

“Sure, I’m not judging, friend. There’s a few of them, I can show you where. You got a phone with ya?”

Liam pulled out his new phone to allow her to point it out on his map. It was not marked as a point of interest, so he saved the place manually. Cally might work at one of these places. Liam didn’t know if he’d ever see that mixer again, but he really wanted to. He thanked Alex for the coffee and set out to discover more of this area of the city.

After a solid few hours of bouncing from shaded side street to strip malls, to back alleys and residential streets, he had thoroughly worn himself out. And to top it all off, the urges had returned. He clenched his fists, drew a deep breath, and entered a quiet bar where he ordered two shots of vodka which he necked quickly as he waited for the bartender to pour his beer. He checked his phone, but of course, there were no messages. Nobody knew about it or had its number. That’d have to change sooner or later. He spent some time making himself a new social media profile while he drank, under a new email address with an Australian domain name. Everything was getting changed up. Everything was going to be different now. Well. Almost everything. There were some issues he’d still have to take care off. He had maybe a few hundred thousand in the bank, and even if he lived cheaply, he couldn’t live on that for ever.

“Bartender… keep these coming,” he said to the man behind the bar, and waved the little shot glasses. They were the only things keeping his cravings at bay.

He dialled, and waited, heart pounding more and more as the rings kept coming and nobody picked up. Then a voice came through.

“Hoffman and Kaizer Legal. To whom do I have the-”

“Mike. It’s me.”

“Mr Connor!” The voice at the other end crackled as the speaker reached a volume his phone could not deal with. “I read your mail, but I wasn’t sure what to make of it. I think it’s best you explain it to me. Very slowly.” Mike’s voice was tinny and distant, garbled by thousands of miles of ocean, but his intention came through with cold familiarity, like a school principal.

“I guess I should talk to you about some things.”

“Damn right you should! Where are you? Was that a serious mail?” The voice was slightly worried. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Sell it all, as I said. Whatever’s worth money at least. My phones and computers... I don’t know, throw it away. Or put it in a vault where nobody can get to it, I don’t care. I don’t want any of it. Can you guys manage my money for me. Without everyone in the world knowing what’s going on, I mean?”

“That’s certainly not impossible,” Mike said uneasily. “We’re not exactly in the business of accounting. This isn’t related to anything illegal, is it?”

“No, no.” Liam clutched his head, where a gentle headache had turned into an insistent one. “It’s not illegal. I don’t need you to do accounting, just make sure it’s all there, and that none of those greedy pricks touches it. I might need it later. God knows what the label might do when this shit really hits the fan.”

“Right, right,” Mike said. There was a slight pause, while the sounds of buttons being tapped came from the other end, barely audible over the crackle of the speakers. “Your access code for your house is still the same, right? We can go in there, and start this process as soon as possible, with your consent.”

“Yeah, you have my full consent to do whatever it is you need to do. Just get it done.” Mike was damned professional. More like a personal servant than anything, but an exceedingly well-paid one. “And the concerts. Talk to Cee, and whatever money he needs to shut up and go away, give it to him. Okay?”

“Sure Liam, I’ll settle all the debts. But there’s going to be a net overflow. What do you want us to do with all this money?”

“I need to get a new bank account,” Liam said, making another in a long list of mental notes. “I’ll send you the details later. If there’s a problem, call me, if not… then don’t. And don’t tell anyone about this.”

“You have my word, this is an attorney-client privilege conversation, naturally. You have to tell me, though. Promise me you’re not running from the law or whatever. If I go into your house tomorrow, I’m not going to find something I don’t want to find?”

“No, Christ. Err... cocaine, probably, and some weed, couple of pills. Nothing you’re not used to, right?”

Liam could hear a distinct sigh from the other end. He hadn’t had any of that shit since he got to Australia, didn’t know where to score or what was overpriced or not here. But he didn’t particularly lament that. Normal people took Tylenol and had a drink or two when they needed to relax. Or a smoke.

“Where did you end up?” Mike asked, finally. “I don’t think I recognize the number.”

“I’m in Sydney.”

“Sydney? Like the capital of Australia?”

“I don’t think it is the-”

“Yeah, no but it really is, isn’t it? I’ve been there. It’s a nice place.”

“Yeah, looks like it. Can you...” Liam hesitated, this next one was a big ask, even for Mike’s six figures a year. “Can you look into citizenship requirements?”

“You’re joking, Liam. You’re not going to come back and keep us in business?”

“I’ll be keeping you in business for a decade with all those sleeper sales.”

“So, it’s real? Liam, be honest. What’s the reason for it?”

“I’m doing a Britney,” Liam said sarcastically. “I’d rather not go into details right now. Which reminds me, Mike. I have to draft a statement and I want you to publish it when the time comes.”

“You’re not seriously doing a Britney,” Mike said, and his voice seemed to drop slightly. “This is more like a Bill Waterson. Off the record, man... This isn’t a breakdown is it, really? Are you okay?”

Liam looked around him. He felt the urge for nicotine, the more insistent urge of alcohol, and the coldness all over from the handful of weekend habits he’d kicked. There was a pounding in his head and roiling in his stomach, and his fists clenched and unclenched in frustration, out of his control. He even had an inexplicable urge to visit clubs and bars he’d never ever consider being seen near before. He never wanted to touch another prostitute, do another line of coke, or smoke another cigarette. But this wasn’t a breakdown. It was a breakout.

“I’m fine.”

He just wanted it all to be over, so that he could forget everything about the US and move on with his life. “Just fix it. Don’t call unless there’s a problem. One you can’t solve. And check that citizenship thing, please. I’m serious.”

Exhaling as he clicked his phone lock on, he looked up to meet the eyes of two young looking kangaroos in front of him. At first, he thought they were bunnies, but their thick tails gave them away.

“Aye, my mate here says you’re Ell… like THE Ell. Like, Elaborate. The... the rapper.”

“Ugh… what do you want?” Liam said. He felt his annoyance strongly now, bubbling up underneath that sedative layer of alcohol, and he didn’t want to talk to them. But his answer had confirmed their suspicion. He looked across to the bartender, but he was busy, and didn’t see him.

“Mate, I told you, hey!” said the other guy, his fur was a slightly more reddish hue, and he had a tribal tattoo on his shoulder. “Yo, we got heaps respect for the Lost Fourteen, yo.”

“Quit’ embarrasin’ yourself, Davo.” The other Kangaroo said, punching his friend’s shoulder. “It’s the Lost Ecks-Ai-Vee-”

“Guys… Listen… what can I do for you that would make you leave me alone?” Liam blurted out.

“Oh, we… Oh, man, we’re just… can we get a selfie?” Davo said, digging his paw into his pocket to fish out a cracked phone with the sticker from some sports team on the back.

“Anything but that.” If they only put out a status on the internet, not many people would believe them, probably. But a picture was unmistakeable. As a general rule people could witness you, and it’d become an interesting anecdote for their friends to hear, but once a camera saw you, and that picture was out there, that was it. Game over. Liam reaffirmed his voice. “I mean that. No pictures. I can get you an autograph, that good?”

“Awh, man, don’t be a downer mate.”

“I’m buying you both a beer, and I’ll get you my autograph, but I’m not interested in pictures, okay?”

“Why?”

“Do you want me to just fuck off?” Liam asked testily, feeling the fur on his neck starting to rise. “I can just fuck off you know. Or get you boys thrown out?”

“Don’t listen to Davo, Mr. Ell,” Davo’s friend put his paws in the air, and tried to calm the situation. Liam wished it was that easy, but he forced himself to breathe and relax a bit. “An autograph would still be awesome.”

The two friends shared a look, but it seemed that elation finally won out over Davo’s insistence. Liam called for the bartender to furnish them with drinks. He dropped a hundred-dollar bill which he’d had withdrawn earlier and signed the receipt for them. Over the process, the bar had become excruciating. He was as drunk as he usually was at this time of day, but it was rarely as unpleasant as this.

He put some earbuds in, and poked at his phone screen until the GPS app came up. He couldn’t focus on the map app, but he knew he’d saved his hotel address in there somewhere. He poked some more, and a route finally appeared with a pleasant Australian accent guiding him along, away from the bar. He walked along, zoning out and focusing on his steps and the simple instructions playing through his earbuds, trying to calm himself by thinking as little as possible about how this mess would somehow work itself out. Things, in the end, work themselves out. There had rarely been a problem in Liam’s life which he couldn’t sleep on, safe in the knowledge that when he woke up, Mike or Cee, or someone else would have made it their problem instead.

The lady in the GPS put him on a path he couldn’t recognize, and before long it announced that he had arrived. He was not by his hotel. The streets were bathed in neon colours, and loud music came out of the establishments here. He was about to pull up his phone when a voice stopped him.

His own voice, from long ago, blaring out of a club across the street caused Liam to flick his ears, and sober up several degrees. He’d grown immune to hearing his own voice long ago, but this song was an odd choice to play in a street like this, with colourful lights, and now that Liam looked, lots of happy and smiling people, going up and down the streets and in and out of the places here. It was some kind of party street, and under the noise of all the party goers, were the unmistakeable bars and beats of That Song. Decidedly not a party song, if you understood the lyrics. He tracked the song to a bright pink neon sign on the front of a brick building. It had a lot of people around the entrance, smiling and enjoying themselves. Happy people who didn’t need his music.

Liam checked his phone. He’d sobered up slightly, just enough to read the screen. Hoping he’d just missed by a street or two, he checked his GPS, but somehow, without being familiar with Sydney’s streets at night, he knew he hadn’t. He had come exactly where the GPS had told him to come, where he had told his GPS that he wanted to go. The last saved location, which Alex had recommended.

The club was called “The Word of Mouth” and it was the one which was blasting his old songs. He’d never imagined himself being played in a strip club. But it was a modern world, and he knew he’d never be able to keep up with the generations which proceeded him anyways. It looked like a happy place, which he figured might be good for his bad mood, and he was curious why they were playing his songs. He should have turned back and gone home. He was being irresponsible; he could get recognized. But it was just research. Innocent research, and anyways, chances were good that the strip clubs were dimly lit, and Liam had never been in one where cameras were allowed. Having convinced what little he had left of his sensibilities that this was an OK thing to do, and harmless besides, he pointed his snout at the club’s entrance, and headed over.

He walked up to the end of the queue, like any normal person would, and tried to focus on the crowds. The queue was usually an indicator of what kind of club this was. Or what kind of people were not let inside. These seemed to be the former kind. Perky looking young people smiled and laughed, joked with each other, and looked excited to be there. A lot of fur dye and interesting clothing solutions were on display. Fishnets, collars, buckles. High skirt lines, on guys and girls. Leather. Rubber. Latex. Anything you could imagine. Dizzying fruit-perfumes, strong enough that Liam could smell it clearly despite years of abusive behaviour towards his snout. As he got closer, he could hear that the chatter dropped a pitch, and more and more whispers emerged between the voices. Alex had called them a “community”. Perhaps that meant they all recognized him as a stranger among them. Good. It was more comfortable to believe that, than that he was being recognized. Of course not. Who’d guess that the rapper Elaborate, who had once used the word “faggot” as a general slur in his lyrics, would be renown enough around here to be recognized on the street. There could be no way that he’d belong in these people’s lives to any extent. They looked worry free. They looked like they danced, and went to raves, and didn’t struggle to get laid. Not like what Liam imagined his demographics looked like.

When given half a chance, Liam would imagine the kids who listened to his music were the equivalent of grunge fans but for the late twenty teens. Disenfranchised, disillusioned, unhappy and angry kids, who wanted to kick and scream, and fuck shit up. But the dingo in front of him, in his tight white jeans and fishnet tank top, didn’t seem like he’d put up much of a fight against a stuck pickles jar lid, let alone the system. The theme carried throughout the crowd. They didn’t look ready to start anything, regardless of inebriation. And if one of them was denied entry by the doorman, they pulled their friends along to the next club instead.

The bouncer, a squat, powerfully built Koala with a lot of aboriginal patterned white perma-dye around his muzzle and eyes, saw Liam at the back of the line and waved at him.

“You’ve got no business standing in this line, mate. What do you think you’re doing?”

Despite the confrontational tone and steely gaze, Liam recognized what was happening all too well. He had been recognized, at least by this person, as a celebrity, and he was going to get escorted inside whether he wanted to or not. Though the damage might already be done, he still got up close to the bouncer, and whispered into a large, fuzzy ear.

“I’m just here to get a drink. Not a word to anyone. Nobody seems to know me, don’t start anything.”

“No worries, mate,” he said, tapping his snout knowingly. “We don’t talk about who visits these places, you know. Come along now.”

The bouncer took him inside. Liam heard his own voice grow louder over the speakers; the heavy bass rattled his ribcage. The flashing lights and colours were spectacular, and entirely out of place with the song which was playing. There was a bar in this room, so Liam bee-lined for it before anyone could stop to wonder why he was there. He felt dangerously close to sensible, and he couldn’t allow himself to be in here without the excuse of being blind drunk ready at hand.

The noise was staggering in here, and he couldn’t make heads or tails of what the bartender said, so he pointed at a bottle of clear looking liquor, and held up two fingers, whereupon they handed him a double strength G&T. Crude and simple… but effective. He paid and left one of his customary tips, because he couldn’t stop himself, and the staff smiled and waved as he left the bar. The main area which he’d entered was a sort of lounge area with a big dance floor in the middle.

Several coloured spotlights threw different shades of light around the large room, mixing them, and making the colours shine on the attractive people crowding the dance floor. Any spot of white fur glowed under the gentle blue UV lamps above, lending even more vibrance to the scene. And lighting Liam up like a glowstick. He noticed discreet doorways, which led to other parts of the club, separated with sashes or curtains, seemingly themed in a different style depending on the room. He might as well, now that he’d gotten this far.

The room he selected was far more sedate. The music was turned low, and he could hear the other people in here, though thanks to the way this room was lit, he could barely see them. Around the room were scattered several low tables and comfortable chairs, which were all aimed towards a low stage. Nobody talked to each other here. They whispered. The stage was currently empty, but it was clear that something was about to happen soon. He tried to not think about what he was doing. It was all research. It would be convenient to have something to talk about Cally with which the dog cared about. Yeah, that was a good way to put it. He was blind drunk and had thought it was a girls’ strip club, and now he’d already gotten his drink, so there was no way he could leave for at least half an hour. Surely. Liam was far enough gone that he might just let himself believe that.

After a short while, Liam spotted a person emerging onto the stage from behind a curtain on the far wall. He saw a flash of caramel fur, but it was a trick of the green light. Liam realised that it wasn’t him. For some reason, his heart sunk, and stopped beating quite so rapidly.

He was a fox, a classic red and white patterned one, but so finely cropped and brushed that not a strand of fur was wrong. He looked like some painting of a fox in a romanticist style. There was no way a fox could look this… fox-like. Gorgeous. Well, in a neutral way. Liam could appreciate a nice anatomy, regardless of who or what. He was wearing pretty much nothing, except for a pair of tight shining red shorts which left nothing to the imagination anyways. But Liam didn’t care about his clothes. This was becoming an artistic experience.

He was stunningly graceful as he mounted a pole which stood in the centre of the stage. Skill-wise, the girls at Hollywood’s best strip clubs had nothing on this guy. His moves were fluid, there was not so much as a toe or finger out of line, and when he touched down, you could have heard a pin drop, not even the sound of claws tapping the stage. Whenever he swung, he looked as if he was under water, or weightless. Eventually, and somehow without Liam noticing it, he’d slipped out of the little red shorts altogether. He’d simply spun around the pole, and when he came back around, they were at the end of his legs.

Liam was taken aback with the display but couldn’t even connect his amazement to the fact that this was a naked male stripper. In the end, it was a naked fox. Liam had seen plenty of those already. Actors, model photo shoots, porn clips and so on. He carefully patted his pocket, pretending as if to check that his phone was still there. Nothing had stirred in his pants, which meant everything was as it should be.

Another boy came out after the fox, another song started playing, and another moment blew by before Liam knew it. He was a deer. His white tail flicked and enticed the other guests, but Liam just studied his moves. Who would have guessed these guys could be so much better at dancing than any girls he’d seen? Had he only seen amateurs in his time? Or was it because these guys had more to prove? Liam might not have been an expert, but he could recognize passion come alive through art. Was stripping just taken more serious down here? Had he really never researched strippers before? Not counting physical examinations. Liam had no idea where they went or came from, or how they learned to do what they did. But it was easy enough to imagine. How these guys could be so much better, though, he had no explanation for.

When the shows were over, and people started shuffling out, he turned his phone back on and put in the name of the hotel in his GPS, as he made his way out into the Sydney night, almost completely sobered up. Somewhere in “The Word of Mouth”, his drink remained, untouched. He made his way up to his room, and laid down in bed more curious about Cally than when he’d gone out that morning.

He’d called his parents back the next day and tried to explain why he’d done what he’d done. He’d not expected the support. They were mostly happy that he didn’t seem too sad, and that he was no longer making, in their words, those unpleasant lyrics. It wasn’t such a scathing critique really, because he knew they both owned several copies of all his albums and would hand them out to any family member proudly whenever they met someone who hadn’t received one yet.

As he hung up, another ringing sound filled his hotel room, one he’d not heard before, not even inside his head. By the bedside there stood one of those old looking landline phones, and it was rattling away, singing it’s shrill, old, mechanical tune.

“Liam speaking,” he said cautiously into the receiver.

“Mr. Connor, good morning, this is reception. There’s a gentleman on call for you. Would you like to be put on the line?”

“Uh, sure,” Liam groaned, curious.

There was a click, then a beep, and then, a hesitant familiar voice came from the other end. “Hello?”

“Cally!” Liam said, and for some unexplored reason, a great sense of relief fell over him. “I was beginning to suspect you wouldn’t call.” Liam put on the confident mask of someone who was completely at peace with the world.

“Oh, thank God,” came Cally’s voice from the other end. “I was worried I’d gotten the wrong place at first.”

“You’ve definitely gotten the right one,” Liam said, seating himself on his bed and leaning back with the phone to his ear. “I figured we could catch up.” Liam said, acutely aware that he was talking to a gay guy. He had to be careful not to sound like he was coming onto him or anything. But instead of being careful, he said, “guess I should’ve asked for your number.”

He laughed uncertainly, but thankfully, Cally didn’t find any issue with his comment. Cally returned his laugh instead and gave Liam the number he was calling from. Liam gave him his new Australian number in return, and smiled inwardly as he programmed Cally’s full name into the phone. Cally Cooper. 0243302019. His phone instantly felt more valuable and precious, somehow.

“How is Australia treating you?” Cally asked. “Have you settled in yet or are you still thinking about hopping along.”

“Hey now, if I were leaving, I’d let you know, you know.” Liam said. “It’s been interesting, that’s for sure.” It was probably best if he went into as little detail as possible.

Liam could hear an angry voice on the other end of the line, to which Cally shouted a reply. “It’s just a friend, dad, calm the fuck down.”

Another series of muffled sounds. Cally must’ve put a paw over the receiver on his phone, but the sounds still made their way through.

“No dad, calm down, for fuck’s sake. Don’t throw shit. I’ll get-”

A raised voice came back, it was clipped but Liam clearly heard “Don’t tell me to fucking calm down,” spoken in a gruff nasal voice followed by the slamming of a door.

“Trouble at home?” Liam asked cautiously.

Cally went quiet for a bit. “Parents, am I right?”

Liam nodded absently, not wanting to admit that he’d never had such a bad relationship with his parents. He’d rapped about all kinds of struggles he’d never experienced.

“Hey, want to catch up for real?” Liam said, boldly moving into an unknown and risky territory of conversation. “I found this nice coffee place; thought you might like it.”

“Oh, I think I could do that. Where is it?”

Liam couldn’t recall the address, but he knew his phone would be able to remember where he’d been. He found what the district was called from his ‘recent places’ tab on his map application and zoomed in on the street where he was sure he’d been. A short period of silence lingered after he’d reported the location.

“Are you sure you don’t mean someplace else?”

“I’m pretty sure,” Liam said, not wanting to interpret Cally’s tone. “I’ve got the maps open now, it’s definitely there.”

“Okay... I’m game. Heck, I’m totally onboard. When do you wanna go?”

“I was thinking right about now. I’m just getting in a cab after this call, I can pick you up along the way.”

“wh-OH! Oh jeez,” the dog exclaimed on the other side of the line. “Like, right now?”

“Yeah… that’s not a problem, is it?”

“N-no, but I don’t live close to town or anything. I live in Penrith, it’s a bit of a drive-”

“No problem, cabs go there, right?”

“Y-yeah, but... I mean... I can get the train, I mean. It’s a long way from downtown and-”

“Cal, don’t forget who you’re talking to here.” Liam laughed.

“I haven’t.” He sighed, but still had some of that enthusiasm in his voice when he spoke again. “Alright, I’m sending you the address now. Message me when you’re outside.”

They said goodbye and hung up, and Liam’s tail was still wagging, even after he’d gotten into the cab.

“Brown street in Penrith, and step on it,” he said, and handed the driver enough wages to take a week’s vacation.

***

It didn’t look like a good neighbourhood. Liam felt, for the first time, that he was somewhere he shouldn’t be. Cally might have been embarrassed to have him come out here, rather than concerned about the taxi fare. Several ratty looking cars were street parked, the houses looked flimsy and sun-bleached. Nobody swept the roads or pavements here, so they were full of dead leaves and grass clippings. Nobody seemed to keep their properties cared for, or wash their cars either. Perhaps it was a cultural thing, but Liam suspected it might be a socio-economic thing instead.

The cab pulled up to a property on the end of the street. The first thing which caught his eye were several car parts stacked up against the back wall of the house’s semidetached carport. Underneath the half-roof stood a beat-up old car, which might one day have been a classic muscle car, but now looked abandoned and rusty. Several naked tires propped up the axles, and it had no wheels or windows. The house matched it for wear. It looked as if the façade was made from aluminium or steel plate, but it had once been painted in a vivid azure. It was now a very light and unevenly faded memory of the original shade, flaked in the intense sunlight. Liam had his sunglasses on, but still had to squint at the strong reflection. The front yard was filled with detritus from a long life. A busted washing machine, some old tires, a tarp stuck under a rock, an oil drum and other junk. A dead tree overlooked one side of the yard, framing the derelict driveway and run down house. The only sign that there was life inside was a humming AC unit poking out of a side window. Liam sent the message, and less than a minute later, Cally came out onto the street where they were parked.

“Hey, Liam, good to see you again,” He barked as he seated himself in the taxi.

“You t-”

Cally hugged him then, a quick, friendly squeeze which caught Liam off guard and made his tail pat the back seat gently. Perhaps Cally was just the hugging type? Liam didn’t mind. He realised he’d not had a genuine hug in a long time.

Liam had selected a short-sleeved polo shirt for the outing, which looked very straight edge and set off his perma-dyes. It wasn’t long after they had gotten moving before Cally commented on them. Liam gave him the story behind them. Though the story of Troy’s death didn’t sit well with the mixer, he smiled and admired the tattoos even so.

They stopped at the cosy little café which Liam had discovered on his first outing, with the cool rat girl behind the register. She lit up when she saw the bull terrier and mixer come into her shop. Liam found a little table where the two could catch up. Alex came over to them quickly to note their orders.

“Mr Connor, welcome back!”

“Hi, Alex,” Liam returned her smile with genuine enthusiasm. “It’s on me today, give him whatever he wants.” Liam waved at the mixer, and tried to push back the thought that this meeting was anything other than a friendly one. “Mine is the same as it was the last time. If you remember what I had, I’ll not break this hundred.”

“Liam, you really don’t have to,” Cally and Alex both said, almost in unison. They looked over at each other confused.

Liam snickered at them both. “I wasn’t going to break it anyways. I’ve got too much of this stuff already, sit down, Cal. Please.”

Cally put his ears down, but smiled and stuck his ragged wallet back into his pocket all the same.

“So, how have you been since we last talked?” Liam asked, quick to get the question in first, so that he could sip the coffee Alex gave him while he listened.

“Well, I got caught up with my jet-lag, and fixed up an application for the Uni. I think I’ve got a good chance.” Cally said, and sipped his own cup. “It’ll be nice to get something to aim for again.”

“You move quick.”

“I can’t really waste much time like you playboys,” Cally flicked his wrist dismissively, and looked out to the street outside, where people were milling past. “I’ve gotten back my old job, too. Got to start saving money.”

“Work, right after you landed?”

“Yeah, can’t hang around. Dad won’t want me in the house if I don’t work.”

“Your dad didn’t know what you did in the states, right?” Liam hesitated, trying to recollect their previous conversation. “Are you in the same… eh… line of work, over here?”

Cally nodded wordlessly. His ears splayed and his tail slowed its enthusiastic patter.

“I thought you said you liked it?”

“I do.” Cally said.

“Well?”

“It’s the dancing I like,”

“Ah, right.” He said, sheepishly. What else were there but the dancing? Was his colleagues mean to him? Was the clientele? It probably wasn’t the right subject to talk about, so Liam switched tracks.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

Cally looked back to him, shifting his eyes down to his coffee and letting his ears droop. “That kind of depends.”

“It’s nothing personal,” Liam hesitated. “I got a question which you can probably answer. You seem to understand these things.”

“Understand what?”

“Well,” Liam began, looked around quickly, then lowered his voice. “You see, Cally. I was in an area I didn’t recognize, and I was kind of drunk, and I went to this club.” The lyricist and multi-platinum rapper, known known as Elaborate, who had won several freestyle events before he even began writing songs, could not find the words to make himself sound nearly as innocent as he had been. “I guess it was a gay club, alright?”

Cally’s eyes widened.

“I didn’t realise it was a gay club until I’d already been let in, you see, and then I already had a drink in my hand, so I couldn’t go out. And I was kinda buzzed, so I had to go slow, of course.”

“Of course,” He echoed. “What kind of club, exactly?”

“A... a strip club,” Liam conceded. He didn’t have to say that, but he caught Cally’s eyes, and couldn’t look into them. He should have tried a different story, like aliens abducting him or something equally farfetched. Who went into a gay club without knowing it was a gay club? Who believed said person when they insisted, they hadn’t known? Liam hurried to continue the conversation before the puzzle pieces could fall into place on their own.

“Why do you suppose they’re playing my music in those places?”

“Hmm. What songs did they play?” Cally asked.

“Some of the heavier stuff, which was weird. ‘Club 27’, ‘Enough Rope’ and I think I heard ‘The Lucrative Gutter’ too. What kind of material is that for a gay club? I mean, they all looked happy. Not at all like they were about to go out in a blaze of drugs and car accidents, or hang themselves, or whatever the fuck they might take from The Lucrative Gutter?”

“Not a clue. I didn’t use to listen to your music at all, couldn’t say why it’s a big deal or anything.”

“Wait... you didn’t use to listen to my songs... so now you do?”

“I guess,” Cally rubbed at a splayed ear and looked away embarrassed, “Some of your lyrics does have appeal to me. Even if you took away the backing music, it’d be really powerful stuff.”

“Thank you, That means a lot to me,” Liam said because he meant it. “It’s not just grind. I write every song as a little story first, making sure to nail down a story line and a theme, and then the backing beat just comes naturally. I used to have a really good sound guy, José Da Silva, I think, but he shot himself two years ago, and since then, I’ve tried to compose as much of my own stuff as possible.”

“Oh, my god,” Cally whined, and placed a paw to his muzzle. His concern was definitely real, and very strong besides. Curious, Liam tilted his head, but Cally had reined in his reaction to a sympathetic pleading look. In Liam’s head his memory was wrapped in a blanket. Just a story in a newspaper, and suddenly the guy didn’t answer his phone anymore, and stopped coming to work. His death, and the death of any of Liam’s other colleagues and contacts, was unreal and distant. He’d always felt this disconnected from what normal people felt, but he knew it was a sad thing. He just reasoned that those who felt that sadness were closer to José than he’d been.”

“Don’t worry,” Liam said with a shrug. “He gave it all. Left the world in a better place than when he found it.”

“That’s a good line,” Cally said, his voice quivering a little. “I’m going to remember that. It’s... it’s a good thing to believe in. Leave the world in a better place than when you found it.”

Cally clutched his cup, and stared into it intently. He sat straight and collected as if he tried to make himself smaller in his chair. Just then, his phone rang. Mike was on the other end and he’d been told he wasn’t to call unless it was urgent. He let it go to voicemail and put the phone back in his pocket. It rang again after a short while, and Liam silenced it.

“If you wanna get that, it’s cool.” Cally said, but Liam didn’t want to get that. It wouldn’t be cool.

“Nah, it’s probably nothing. Had to sort out some money with my lawyer.”

“Oh, yeah?” Cally perked up, and seemed to return from his journey into his coffee cup. His ears were still perked with a slight strain. It was probably for the best to avoid talking about all the other people Liam knew who had since passed on.

“I read about you in the news,” Cally said. “I didn’t realise your departure was as dramatic as that. There one day, gone the next huh? Wish I could’ve done it like that.”

“When I said I’d had enough, I kinda meant it.” Liam smiled. “It’ll work itself out, I guess. Can’t really make myself worry too much about it.”

That last bit had been a lie, but as Liam tasted the words, here in this lovely little coffee shop, as he sat across from this sweet and kind-hearted dog, he didn’t feel his worries very close to the surface. Things were working themselves out.

“And you’re really planning on staying here?” Cally’s tone was more disbelieving, but in that enthusiastic way which just dared Liam to prove him wrong.

“It’s a nice place. I was going to hunt apartments later today, actually. I wondered if you’d like to come along and have a look.”

“I can hang for a little. Work only really starts in the evening, and I’m already in the city now. It’s an hour back with the train.”

“You don’t have to get a change or a uniform or something?” Liam asked.

Cally just looked at him. His eyes were slightly sad, but his lips drew up into a smile.

“I’m already wearing my uniform under these clothes.”

They finished their coffees and chatted for a while about the things Liam had seen around the city.

When they were done in the coffee shop, Liam took Cally with him to a real estate agent he’d looked up in advance, a gazelle with professionally applied fur-dye around her eyes. She would, after some persuasion and a quick google search to verify Liam’s financial situation, happily show them around some of the finer apartments.

Liam’s criteria were simple. It had to be penthouse, it had to be central, and there had to be an elevator straight into his living room. They were taken around in the back of the Gazelle’s company car to the various apartments, each more likely looking than the last, and all of them made Cally gawk and stare like a cub in a candy shop. Liam didn’t like the thought that he spent his life living in that dump he’d seen. He didn’t like how Cally sometimes seemed to become unhappy in the middle of a conversation. He wanted to be the kind of friend who would give comfort to someone like Cally, who’d surely had it rough in his time, growing up a gay dancer in that place. Liam stopped his line of thought when he realised it was the very same prejudice and elitism he’d been met with when he first started out, which spoke for him. A trained response of the rich, and not his rational mind. He didn’t know Cally well enough. Cally was not a factor in him getting an apartment. Cally was just a guy.

“How do you like this one, Cal?” He asked, when he saw Cally’s adoring eyes fall across the cityscape outside the full-length panorama windows.

“This one’s the best one yet,” the mixer squeaked, excitedly leaning against the glass. “I can almost see Penrith from here, and you can see Parramatta and the West Parklands from here, and everything. It’s a score, is what it is.”

“Well, if you like it, I like it. It’s got all I need in here, from what I can tell. Big TV, big bedroom, big fridge.”

“That’s all?” Cally laughed. “You could even get that in Penrith, mate. I’m guessing this is better though.”

“Well,” Liam hesitated, not wishing to underline his concern about Cally’s home quite so openly. Instead, he turned to the real-estate agent, who was busy cleaning the prints Cally had left on the window. “How much?”

“This property is hovering around seven and a half million mark if you wish to secure it this day. There’s a lot of interest in this one, and the seller has outlined this price for a quicker purchase, not including-”

“Hold that thought,” Liam said, and pulled out his phone. She studied the plain dressed, tattooed bull terrier and his friend, the clearly poor looking mixer

“If this is above your price range, there are other apartments we’ve got on the market, outside the CBD.”

“Nah,” Liam said dismissively, looking across to Cally, who had an awestruck look as he walked through the open plan kitchen. “I think I like this one. Let me get on the phone with my lawyer for a second.”

Liam smiled a disarming smile as the agent was about to protest. “Don’t worry. It’s just about my money.”

Liam stepped out into the entryway while Cally went around the apartment on his own. He sighed and dialled Mike’s number. A groaning voice came from the other end after several rings.

“Liam, Christ, do you have any idea what the time is?”

“Not a clue,” he said in a jolly tone, happy that he might have bothered Mike at an inopportune time, like Mike had done when he’d called in the middle of his appointment with Cally.

“Yes… Hold on, Liam. It’s three in the morning, by the way.”

There came a series of shuffling noises from the other end of the line which distinctly sounded like a lawyer hurriedly dressing himself in a PJ and bathrobe combination, then a series of sounds which told Liam that he was pouring himself a whiskey glass and forgoing the rocks. He’d listened to his lawyer over the phone perhaps a few too many times.

“Yeah, talk to me.”

“How much did you get from selling my shit?”

“Hang on, hang on, uh... your house is listed at four and a half, with most of the furniture included. Your cars were another half a million, and your New York apartment is listed for two million, expected to sell for way more though. I’ve got a stack of personal stuff in a lock up in San Diego, and another one in Newark. You have no idea how much work you’ve caused me, Liam.”

“Yeah, yeah, take a couple of hundred thousand from me, as you always do. You’ll just have to imagine that I’m crying for you. How about you send all that over to me, and then make it so that the money from the record sales go into some kind of fund or whatever, which I can get a pay-out from.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Mike groaned over the phone, but Liam had no doubt he’d remember it, and do his job well. Mike was perhaps overpaid, but he was one of the best lawyers out there, willing to go well out of his way for his clients. An industry leech, perhaps, but Liam saw him from a long way away, and knew better than to get attached.

“I need seven and a half million. Pretty sharpish. I know more or less how much I’m making, I’m pretty sure you’re sitting on twice that, but I just need seven and a half for now.”

“Listen here, Liam,” his lawyer said after some rustling of papers. “There’s going to be some trouble with that, okay?”

“Trouble?” Liam asked. “That better not concern my money.”

“Your money is all here, still, and I could send all of it to you. But it depends very much on what you are going to say to this.” There was a long pause while Mike mumbled something to himself, followed by the sound of a phone being put down and put on speaker mode. “Due to new laws which just came through last year, I can’t send that amount of money out of the country without full disclosure where those money goes, who they belong to, and what they come from. Something to do with funding dictatorships. Maybe we could part it up into monthly payments which would be easier to hide. But seven and a half? I’ll have to report that, and then it is a matter of public record. Of course, that would go against the confidentiality agreement we have, but if that’s something you can live with, then I will do it. I’m going to have to ask again: do you understand what I’ve said, and do you consent.”

“Oh, shit, really?” Liam groaned. “Wait, why is that a problem? I’m not funding a dictatorship, far as I know.”

“It was because of that corruption case in DC a few years back, media focus around these records will be pretty intense, looking for any excuse to drum something up. I will try to keep a lid on it, but well, you know how journalists work.”

“Give me a moment to decide. Hey… Mike. How has my record sales been doing after the big news?”

“Well enough to make your eyes water,” his lawyer said. “Nobody knows whether you’re alive or not. People are clearing the shelves; in case you’re not coming back, and your label is freaking out. I’ve managed to keep most of the questions to a minimum, and as you requested, I’ve kept them away from your parents, but I can’t do that forever. So, it’s best you prepare that statement, make it official, and take back some of that attention, sooner or later.”

“Right, right… I’ll look into it,” Liam grumbled. This was not going to plan at all. “And that citizenship thing?”

“I pulled some strings with an old classmate of mine who deals with international law. He knows a guy who knows a guy who knows some brass at the embassy there, and they should be able to fast-track you through the process. Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure, Mike,” Liam said with all the determination he had, and hung up. He drew a deep sigh and looked around the apartment one more time. Cally was poking his nose up against the window and studying the view. From behind, he looked very pretty. Like, aesthetically. Liam found himself wondering how he looked like when he danced. Before he could distract himself further, he turned to the real-estate agent, and shook her hand.

“My lawyer will settle the matter in a short while.”

“I can’t believe you just bought an apartment like that... in George Street, and everything. Guess you weren’t kidding when you said you had more money than you knew what to do with.” Cally was bouncing down the street enthusiastically. “I’ve never been that high up before, really. You’ve got such a great view. I could just look at it all day.”

“You’d be welcome to drop by, anytime you want.” Liam smiled. Cally’s enthusiasm was contagious, but underneath lurked that fear that he’d merely postponed his new reclusive life. He’d have to work out some way to stay more incognito.

“That’s very nice of you,” Cally said, but as he checked his phone, his gaze dropped to the street and his ears flicked down. “I got to run off now. Sorry. Duty calls.”

“Sure sure, hey… actually, Cally… Where do you work?”

“I… eh…”

“I can pick you up after… you know, shouldn’t walk alone through the nights, right?”

“Thanks, Liam. And thanks for buying me coffee and taking me around these places, and all. But I think it’s best if I just get to work now. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“It’s no big deal you know. I’m cool with you and all-“

“Yeah, we’re cool,” Cally said and fidgeted.

Something in his body language told Liam he should press further. But his conscience told him to leave it, and that was what he listened to.

“Alright, well. If you need anything, just call. Like I said, you’re always welcome, and you got my number. Don’t hesitate.”

“I won’t, Liam. Promise,” Cally said, and he headed off down the street and around a corner, out of sight. Liam was left feeling a bit empty, immediately regretting not pushing further. But it was too late now.

That night, he tried a different strip club in the same district. This one too had a lot of gay friendly stuff in its windows, but this time he was sober enough to know what he was doing. And he still did it.

He was let in, found a place far to the back of the club, and drunk a white Russian in the club’s lounge area while he waited for the show to start, absently tapping at his phone.

When the dancers came out on stage, he didn’t recognize any of them. He’d grown slightly more used to seeing nude men dancing on poles, and he wasn’t sure what he ought to think about that. They still danced wonderfully, but with a more subdued poise, as if they were all holding back somehow. As soon as the money started drifting into the strings of their underwear, they did liven up a bit. But there was room for improvement. This wasn’t the best show in town. And the clientele reflected that. Ragged, casual clothes, the occasional hi-vis clad worker type, who looked as if he’d stepped straight off site. Several tired looking old guys with dirty trousers. He wanted to believe that Cally was better than this, but of course, there was nothing to base that on. After the show he headed outside, and found a seat at a bar which had outside serving, where he could watch the people come and go.

The neon light made the whole street visible, and it’s walkers stood out in glaring hues. It was one of the pedestrian only streets, so drunk people ambled around without a care in the world, relaying from frontage to frontage, until they seemed to drift into some sort of magnetic field, whereupon they would be drawn into the back of a queue by someone else, to wait for admittance to one of the clubs.

As the night wore on, people started milling out of the strip club he’d come from, and into various bars and night clubs all along the street. Soon after, another place up the street disgorged its customers onto the neon lit concrete. A few other places followed suit, but the crowds of people soon dispersed. Liam sipped at his drink, and contemplated writing something down about the strange rhythm of the night, but just then, he saw something else occurring from the clubs, which he realised he’d kept a close eye on. A small group of people, dressed in casual clothes, as oposed to partying clothes, emerged from a narrow side street between two clubs. They walked in a tight group. Another one emerged. They were chatting between themselves, but not loudly. Soon, Liam had counted six different groups like this. Each emerging from a different place, heading for either exit of the street.

They must be the club’s talent.

Amongst them, there were a few bigger males, probably security in plain clothes, heading the same way. From where he sat, Liam couldn’t discern any individual from that group. They all had either hoodies or bulky jackets, and he couldn’t tell any defining features apart from antlers and horns. As soon as the groups had disappeared from his view, he got to his feet, and headed for the other place where he’d seen the groups emerge from. There was only one other club here where he’d not been before.

Walking down the street, he kept his eyes fixed on the establishments from which the groups had come out of. The first four of them looked visibly tatty and cheap, two had been the ones he’d already seen, and then there was the last one. It was considerably larger than all the others. There was security outside it still, but the doors were closed, and some worker was rolling the red carpet up for the night. It was clearly a more expensive kind of establishment. Liam noted the name. Nu’ D’Maitre. He put its address into his phone as a point of interest, because he suspected it might very well be one.

Then he called his lawyer and gave the go-ahead for the money transfer. Five minutes later, everything was just as it had been. He was normal. A normal guy, who stood in a pedestrian only street after having visited a bar and night club. A normal guy who owned a one percent apartment in the CBD, twenty-one floors above the harbour, with a view across most of the city and outer suburbs. A normal guy who, after such a purchase, still had a six-figure income bordering on seven.

Liam still had to go back to his hotel and stay there as he waited for the paperwork for his new apartment to sort itself out. It might be as much as a week, she had said, and Liam didn’t feel inclined to give her more of his money to make it go quicker.

Back at the hotel, he headed straight for the bar. It was thankfully open still, but very empty. He noticed that girl who looked like Cally manned the bar tonight as well. In a strange impulsive mood, he sidled up to the counter to order his last drink for the night.

“Hey. White Lady, please.”

“Very well, Mr Connor, White Lady, coming up.”

Liam raised his eyebrows. “You know me?”

At once, he realised how dumb that question had been. He’d gone largely unrecognized, day to day, for a longer stretch than he’d ever gone unrecognized before, and some processes took a while before they were up and working again.

The bartender shrugged and smiled. She turned to mix the drink. “As well as a shipwrecked stranger knows another one of her ilk, Mr. Celebrity.”

“That’s one of my lines,” Liam mused. He recalled it well, not from a lyric in a song, but from the sleeve poetry which had been included in one of the rarer vinyl editions.

“Yup,” she said, and handed him the drink. “Here you go, one White Lady. I can mix you one of my own after this one. I put caramel in instead of sugar, and then it’s a caramel lady!”

“Oh, like yourself?” Liam smiled. “You look just like this guy I know.”

“You don’t say.” She mumbled and set to wiping the counter as Liam sipped his glass. “Someone you care about?”

“You could say that,” Liam sighed, and drained his glass instead. Though why he cared, he didn’t want to go too much into. Alcohol would take care of that. He looked out the windows at the end of the bar, but all he could see was the reflection of himself. “I don’t know. He’s a friend, anyhow.”

“Is that why you’re here now? You want to see your friend, so you came here to look at me?” She gave an amicable smile, and turned to a PC to lower the volume of the lounge music.

He tried to imagine this girl up on that pole, but the vision wouldn’t stay in his head. She kept turning into Cally. “It’s just that you look like him, in a way, so I got to thinking about him.”

“I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted, Mr. Connor,” She said with a wry smile. “I’ll let you off the hook this time, since it’s you. But only this time.”

“Oh,” Liam said when he realised. “No, not like that. It’s just your colouring is quite like him. No offense meant. He’s good looking, anyways.”

“I see. Well, my shift is up soon, so I’m not serving any more drinks. Last chance, would you like to try the Caramel Lady?”

She winked at him, and there might have been a flirt in her tone, might not. Liam didn’t bite, and it wasn’t just instinct. She might mean well but she was a fan, too. However professional she acted, Liam knew he had power over her that he ought not have. Some fans would do any number of wild things to get a piece of whoever they were a fan of. Even things they’d later regret.

“I’m good, thanks,” he said, and put a large bill on the counter, which was worth ten White Ladies and another one of her smiles.

He’d given himself some strange thoughts, but it was just the alcohol which surged around his system on a near-permanent basis these days, and the residual memories of his being in a strip club for gay men. He was the same old Liam on the inside. The one he’d known before the fame. Still interested in the art, before anything else. Beauty came before the carnal, the desire for aesthetics came before the desire for the flesh and fur. He’d simply had his eyes opened to an artform which he’d never noticed back in LA. That was all. He wasn’t into it for the reasons they might have assumed. He wasn’t a product of their influences. He was different.

He flopped down on his bed and tried to write about the reasons he’d had for giving up his career. Something that the fans could take with them, and grow and learn from. But he shouldn’t have bothered. He knew he wasn’t a proper role model, really. Role models didn’t have to lie about their struggles, or invent fancy lyrics to obfuscate their true intentions. “Dancing on the precipice” he muttered. Why hadn’t he just said that he’d been fed up. He had enough? Was it too easy? It was somehow even more vague than the truth. But what was the truth? He couldn’t think of a single reason which would explain his actions, and when he tried to outline every reason, he found there were more reasons popping up, hiding in between lines and under paragraphs. In the end, he sat down and wrote some lines of poetry. Embarrassing, unfocused lines which would be crumpled up in the morning. But tonight, they were allowed to remain in his notebook, telling of a young mixer with caramel fur and long, perky ears.

The paperwork from the real-estate agent came through on Liam’s new e-mail over the next weekend. He spent an afternoon filling out the paperwork and knocking back Gin Slingers, provided by the hotel bar in which he’d seated himself. She wasn’t here today, likely not getting on her shift before later.

As he had his social media accounts in another tab already, the new ones he’d made when he came here, he sensed curiosity getting the better of him.

He put Cally’s full name into the search engine and scanned the pages which appeared. His Facebook profile popped up as one of the top results. A younger looking, but otherwise completely identical dog stared back at Liam from over a pair of cheap market-stand sunglasses on the shores of some sunny beach. He was wearing a pair of short swimming shorts, the same fake watch from the flight, and a wide grin on his muzzle. The time stamp was from three years ago, and his last post on his profile was from his birthday. December 15th. Liam checked his phone, the date was still a few months off, but he stored it in his phone’s calendar, just in case.

He checked other social media profiles and used the mixers real name as well as his shortened moniker, and clicked through a few of his friends’ profiles, found some pictures, which he reverse-searched, until he found a well-hidden, but not private Instagram profile which set of his alarms. It wasn’t explicitly stated to be Cally’s, but Liam saw a lot of Cally’s photos on it, from the other profiles. He recognized some of the people Cally had been around in those, featuring in more photos here. Apparently more frequented, this account had posts from this year, and several times the interaction with each of the post compared to his Facebook. Several pictures were from that part of the town where the strip clubs were, but none of them showed Cally in relation to any gay stuff, and none of the other people in the pictures were tagged, either so Liam couldn’t carry on his research. Just as he was about to close all his open browsers, feeling slightly uncomfortable with where he was taking this, a picture caught his eye. It was a phone picture of an old photograph. A family photo, or what looked to be one. Cally, a young pup of perhaps thirteen, stood in the middle, holding an arm around the shoulders of two smaller pups who could only be his siblings. They were all identical apart from the mole, which only Cally had. He had a sister and a brother. The girl was definitely the one who worked at this hotel, no doubt. She looked to be around fifteen or sixteen in this picture. Older than Cally, but smaller in stature. The other boy, he hadn’t seen before. He looked younger still. Six or seven, barely school age. In this picture, Cally’s smile was wide and puppylike, and it had a wide gap between the two central-most incisors in his upper jaw, which he must have had corrected long ago because his teeth in his more recent photos were perfect. The smile of someone who didn’t know much of the world, but enjoyed what little he knew. A smile Liam missed being able to smile so much it ached inside him. He didn’t know why, but he saved the picture. After that, he couldn’t bring himself to pry deeper, he was starting to feel uncomfortable, and he feared he stepped close to some line.

The paperwork he was filling out had required him to answer a few difficult questions about nationality, which he’d skipped for the time being. With nothing else to do with his day, he got on his bike and headed down towards the US embassy.

The place was easy enough to find, as his hotel was quite near it, and it was also not far from where his new apartment would be. After being admitted to the embassy and presenting his passport, he filled out some more paperwork, completed his paperwork for the real-estate agent, and chatted with the stunned front desk clerk about sights to see and things to do.

The process might take some time, even with Mike’s help, and he’d have to go through a citizenship test, too. The rest of the paperwork was something his lawyer could arrange.

He spent the rest of the day on his phone, directed by his lawyer, surfing between different Australian government websites, phone numbers and locations, making sure all his particulars were in order. Even if he’d always despised the paperwork, today, here and now, it didn’t bother him. He saw his staircase before him, step by step, and up top, there was some kind of enlightenment. Something, obscured from view by the excitement of reaching it, beckoned him further

He considered his options on the way back to his hotel. He was more than likely to find Cally if he checked out the Nu’ D’Maitre. He couldn’t just walk in, like that. It’d be awkward, and perhaps even uncomfortable for Cally. The visit to the coffee shop, and Liam’s overtly inclusive attitude had not made the mixer any less cautious about who he was and what he did. But the temptation was too strong.

He found a dark sweatshirt in a thrift store, which would obscure his bulk and his dye job, and a regular black cap with some random sponsorship on it, too. When he tugged it down onto his head, and donned his hood, his thick brow line and bulky muzzle could pass for any other large white dog. In the dark, as these clubs invariably were, with his sunglasses and a decent thick layer of perfume on, and his jewellery off, he might just go unrecognized.

He found the club as night fell, and hesitated in front of it. He knew this was a stupid idea, it was irresponsible. It could go wrong in so many ways that he’d stopped counting. Just working up the courage to get this far had been a challenge. If he turned, he didn’t know if he’d dare coming back. But there was a Liam who knew how this worked, who could play the role. There was a Liam who’d lived more of his days inside a club than he had been in Australia in total. They may have looked down their noses at this industry, but they had also given Liam confidence he didn’t easily shake, if he just let himself tap into that. If Australia was foreign to him, this was not. He was in disguise, so he might as well let himself be that dog for a moment longer.

There were more security measures being taken in this club, but a quick glance around the interior told Liam that they could afford it, and it might be needed. It was a large club, deceptively deeper down than street level, but the roof told of a second floor which was just above them, and perhaps more than that too. The building had been so bathed in neon that Liam hadn’t been able to tell its true size. It was lavishly furnished, too. The lounge area was dominated by the bar, and the soft LED’s which shone out from under its counter, bathing the floor around it in a bright purple light. Brand clothes, heavy chains and lots of jewellery were on display here. Muscled people, slim ones, toned and well-groomed were all around, but none of them looked like the dancers. There wasn’t so much of the party-going atmosphere here. People wore suits or other nice clothes. No fishnets, no neon, no loud bass music. The bar was stocked with high quality liquor, and staffed by a pair of male harlequin rabbits, wearing less than half a person’s worth of clothes between them, setting them apart from the bar’s patrons. They occasionally flicked a mixing glass, or threw a bottle across to each other, and served every patron with the exaggerated patois of professionals. No college kids, these. It seemed most people were gathered around the bar to watch them, rather than drink or order. They weren’t half as graceful as the dancers Liam had seen, but they had an elegance all of their own. He wasn’t here to watch circus acts, however. As there was no stages or poles in the lounge area, Liam searched around for clues as to where he should go next.

A neon sign of a stylized figure in the nude naturally stood out to him. Underneath the sign, there was a door with a mean looking kangaroo in a black t-shirt in front of it. But Liam had been around bouncers his entire career, and had never met much resistance, once they knew who they were dealing with.

“Is this where the dancing is?” Liam asked the guard. The buff looking kangaroo met his look, peering over his dark sunglasses.

“You regular or VIP?”

“VIP, that’s usually where it’s at” Liam smiled, assuming he was addressing how the bull terrier had entered the club.

“You got a VIP Pass?”

“Right here,” Liam said, and fished out the only ID he’d remembered to bring.

“That’s a pretty passport and all, but I need you to get a VIP pass before I’m going to let you in.”

“Where can I get that?”

“You can buy’em in the bar, if there’s any left. They disappear quick.”

Liam studied the door behind the big kangaroo, and then looked back to the bar, which had a potentially evening-sabotaging amount of people around it. Fuck it, he could afford it, and he didn’t want to risk ending up with in the cheap seats.

He surprised himself when he didn’t order a drink, but instead leaned in and asked for what he wanted. It was a good thing they had sensitive ears, those harlequin bartenders. A few hundred dollars later, mostly to get all the talking out of the way, he held a laminated lanyard with VIP printed on one side, and the club logo on the other.

He was shown into one of several rooms beyond a staircase which seemed far longer than it had any right to be. It wasn’t quite like a room, more like a long, narrow booth, with a horseshoe-shaped sofa against the back wall, placed in front of a sturdy looking coffee table which had never seen a cup of coffee, and a stage in the other end. Its meaning was as directly communicated through the design of the room as possible. He was alone in here, and something told him he would be, until the dancer, or dancers came.

He’d never wanted private dances in the regular clubs back home, because he was usually never alone, and it was more fun to be a part of the crowd. But he was thankful that he could hide away here, in his dark, anonymous clothes. Like a common pervert. No, he told himself. He was here for the art. For his friend, but mostly for that friend’s art. Mostly. He couldn’t help but spot the stage lights, which all pointed towards a pole in the middle of the stage. They’d probably shine in the dancer’s eyes and obscure who was in the room. Hopefully.

The table in the middle of the horseshoe had a little screen indented in the surface. Liam studied it for a moment as it was currently the only thing in this room demanding his attention. There were a series of small icons on the screen. Some were greyed out but some had colours. He recognized one of the icons immediately, and his heart started beating, as reality settled over him again. It was Cally. This was indeed his club, this was where he actually danced. It was good to see that the best club in the street employed the mixer, instead of any of the other places, where the dancing mostly happened on a public stage for anyone to see. But why did that even register as a concern and relief? Liam didn’t care who else saw him. Surely. Cally was just a stripper, his job was to dance for people. So what if he danced for a hundred people? And yet, it gave Liam peace to know that that wasn’t the case.

He wasn’t sure he dared to do it. He was confident in his disguise, but not in whether or not he could hide his reaction. His weeklong obsession wasn’t lost on him at this moment, and that obsession all came to a point here, on the very edge of a precipice Liam had never registered before. A precipice Liam didn’t even know he had in himself. What was wrong with him? Why did he care if some stripper recognized him in the wrong place?

What if the dance was bad? What if it tarnished the view of the boy in his eyes? But then again, what if it didn’t?

That had been his biggest worry. What if the dance was good. What if it did shit to him that it shouldn’t. Liam was an open-minded dog, but not like that.

Or what if he’d been discovered, and Cally misinterpreted his intentions, and had him arrested. Nah. There were more steps involved in that line of reasoning, and Cally was a rational dog. After all, Liam was only here to look, to observe and take in the art, the aesthetic qualities of a good pole dancer. He was paying his dues and then some. He wasn’t doing anything illegal, arguably nothing particularly wrong, and definitely nothing gay. If he just kept his hat pulled down, his hood pulled up, and his glasses on, it would be fine. Nobody needed to know, and nobody would say a thing. After tonight, this would all be in the past. There must have been plenty of discreet people seeking out these places for more perverse reasons. He hoped he wouldn’t be considered perverse, but he figured he probably would. He couldn’t bare those thoughts; imagining some disgusting f- some disgusting person with his paws all over the gorgeous mixer. Liam just wanted to see him dance. He clenched his fingers into a fist, drawing a deep breath to steady himself.

Why had they made him so God damn insecure about this?

He was Liam Connor. He towered over his peers. He owned the night. He was a king. The greatest in the world. The cocaine of the masses. They had made sure to tell him, again and again. But when it came down to it, he was also a weak willed, nervous dog. A slave to his impulses. Out of control. Emotionally stunted. Untrained in the ways of the heart, in matters of attraction and love. If he pressed that icon, he knew what they’d say about it.

And that pushed him on.

Upon touch, the icon lit up, and a message popped up, informing him that the dancer would soon be with him soon. And then, another message flashed, asking him to read his card, and if he’d like something to drink. Apparently, they did tip in this place. That practice had never been a concern of his. A couple of hundreds in his breast pocket would make sure Cally’s time would be worth it.

After a few moments of awkward waiting, there was a sound from a hidden side door, on the wall between the sofa and the stage. One of the harlequin rabbits entered with a menu on a tray. Liam, who had been prepared for Cally entering, was unable to hide his slight disappointment, but the black and white rabbit sidled up to him with a knowing smile.

“Your dancer is just getting ready now. At most, five minutes.”

“Oh yeah… Right, that’s right…uhm… Can you get me a white Russian and a rum and coke? Is he a rum and coke guy?” Liam pondered

“Our dancers are discouraged from drinking at work,” he said, but just as Liam was getting his disappointed pout out, he leaned in and whispered. “Aw, aren’t you a sweetheart. I could bring you one of his favourite drinks, but don’t tell anyone.”

“If you would, that would be kind.” Liam said, but the rabbit just stood there with a service-worker smile plastered to his muzzle. Liam slipped him a large bill, and the rabbit went, leaving Liam to wonder why it was so important to him that he get Cally a drink. Tradition, he told himself. When friends were at a strip club together, they’d drink together. It wasn’t like he’d need the dog to drink. Liam just wanted to get in the first round. It was a friendly thing. Simple as that.

He hunkered down, heart pounding. He’d not noticed the scent in here, but as he sat in the purple vinyl sofa, it penetrated his subconscious. It was the smell of a brothel, much less a bar, though the alcohol penetrated most of the sweet scents. A lot of guys probably got very horny in here, and Liam could tell that a lot of them had let that horniness reach its natural conclusion. A disturbing thought to have at Cally’s place of work, but he’d smelled worse from strip joints back in LA.

Before his mind could wander on that path, the rabbit, who’s nametag bore the legend ‘Bunny’, appeared from the door, and popped two glasses onto the little table in front of him. Liam took his white Russian, smelled the red wine for a little, before necking his drink. Before Bunny could leave, he waved the empty glass at him.

When he returned with another one, he notified Liam that the dancer was ready for him. Liam wasn’t so sure he was ready, but he nodded and shrunk in the sofa again. He reflected that all this get up was rather elaborate, for just a private strip show. But, then again, the experience of anticipation was next to nothing Liam had felt before, so of course they would try to sell it. It was now or never.

Out from the red curtains, which hung in front of the back wall at the other end of the room, stepped a caramel coloured dog with large, bat-like ears. He wore a loose crop top t-shirt with some modernist pattern, and a pair of denim hotpants, which accentuated a surprisingly perky butt and subtle, but shapely hips. He was a guy, sure, but he had so many dubiously feminine features. The kind of stuff Liam liked, actually. He’d always been a fan of the slimmer girls, the ones without those exaggerated features. Cally was slender, almost under-fed, though he looked healthy. His eyes accented with just the right amount of makeup, his hips just visible between his top and shorts, with just the briefest tease of underwear catching the eyes, if one were to stare very intensely. Not that Liam did anything of the sort. All in all, he was very subtly, classically beautiful, like the allegorical undertones of the greatest songs, or the quiet violin in the back of a dark beat. He had a radiant smile as well, but there was a service-worker hint to it which he couldn’t have hidden from Liam.

The reaction he’d feared never came. Either Cally didn’t see Liam at all, or he simply didn’t recognize him, because as soon as the music started up, a dirty house beat, he stepped to the pole in the middle of the room.

Liam had to consciously clench his jaw so that it didn’t fall open. He forgot every worry, every consideration he’d had. He forgot to deliberate or reflect on his being here. Why his body had taken him here. This made sense to him. This was worth seeing. Cally swung effortless, his legs were gracious and delicate, and strong and confident all at the same time. He straddled the pole, slipped down, flipped, did the splits. He caressed the pole in such a sensual way that Liam felt heat move out to the tips of his ears. Cally’s moves were a work of art, the sort of undiluted, untainted art which only true passion can manifest onto the world. And Liam had always been helpless against art which moved people. Or maybe that was just the passion that spoke for Liam. Well, if art was supposed to make one feel something, then this was as artistic as anything Liam had ever made. He wasn’t sure what to make of what he felt, but it was definitely there; a sort of insistent but incomprehensible feeling. As if someone had blasted white noise at full volume. Cally knew what he was doing, he knew how to do it well, and he enjoyed himself as he did it. That last part was very obvious. Liam never finished his second white Russian.

When he touched down, and the music died, the room seemed to lose some colour and life, until Liam noticed that the coloured lights did die down, and the room had brightened slightly. Cally’s feet tapped the stage gently, reaching for some button or something, because as he did, the stage lights went out. And only the red lamps remained on, a soft hue that only barely kept the room lit. Liam swore he could hear each individual toe claw click against the laminate floor, as Cally walked slowly off stage, and towards him.

Liam swallowed a lump in his throat.

If Cally got closer, he’d know who he was for sure. What would he say? Liam couldn’t let him know he was here in disguise, it was a dishonest thing he was doing, a perverted thing. He was tricking Cally with every second he was here.

“You liked the dance, big boy?” Cally asked. “Wanna show me how much you liked it?”

“Wh… what?” Liam croaked out, but careful as to hide his voice with a hoarse whisper. He tried putting on an Australian accent. “What’s going on”

“You must be new here, I can show you just what that VIP pass buys ya,” Cally stroked his hips, and let his paws travel down, until Liam couldn’t help but understand his meaning.

“N… no... no need,” he gulped, and stuttered. “J-just dance some more.”

“Really?” Cally said, incredulous, but not disappointed. He tilted his head, and leaned a paw on his naked hip. His sheath, his torso, his legs, all sparkling with glitter in the red light. He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t look away.

“Can you?”

“I mean, I’d be happy to, sir!”

Cally mounted the pole again as the music started up, and Liam had the time to process what he was seeing. And relax. He noticed that Cally’s nipples were pierced. His sheath too. Right above his tail, where his fur was very short, Liam saw a tiny patch of coloured fur, different from his caramel hue. He’d guessed the boy had a perma-dye mark somewhere. A red heart wrapped in leafy vines. Tiny, almost imperceptible, but clearly distinct from the rest of his fur.

Liam felt dirty, like an old pervert peeping through a hole in a wall. It was too much. The dance was beautiful, but he couldn’t stand his own thoughts. The old Liam Connor fought with the new one. And the new one couldn’t answer any of the questions the old one had been conditioned to ask, as if trained to it. Why was he in a gay strip joint? Why was he in a private room? Why did he watch that dance, and why... why had he said no? Liam held up a paw to stop the show. He didn’t deserve to watch more, no matter how mesmerizing it was. Instead he put a few bills next to the wine glass, and pushed them across the table to the boy. Before Cally could open his muzzle, Liam quickly exited the room from the door he’d come from. He all but ran down the stairs and outside, where he could take a few deep breaths from the fresh night air.

One and a half block away, he took off his disguise and stared at his reflection in a shop window. He felt wretched. And the unanswered questions didn’t go away. Art. Art could only do so much to him. It couldn’t... it couldn’t have been the only excuse. But it had to be. The longing to see Cally dance again was so powerful. It had blown him away and made him feel... something. Something decidedly not artificial, like the feelings he’d been taught to have. All his adult life, they had taught him to respond to certain inputs with automatic feelings of rejection, revulsion and dismissal. But if anything, that was fake as anything. What he felt now stuck with him long after. This was realer than anything he’d felt before, whatever it meant.

He’d been irresponsible. But it had worked. And that meant that it would work again. He could go back there. He was prepared now, he’d just have to make sure Cally didn’t get the wrong idea. He wasn’t there for anything other than the art.

He scanned the street, and considered for a moment where Cally might head off, once his shift ended. Across the road was a bar which had tables outside. Well-lit tables where Liam would be visible from the street. He couldn’t remember when the strip club closed, but he would wait here, because he remembered that the talent would eventually leave. He’d wait here until morning if he had to, in the hopes that Cally might come past. Maybe Cally would recognize him, and force him to confess? Or maybe Cally would question why he’d be here in the first place, and then work out who had been his mysterious patron, later? Liam couldn’t say what was the worse outcome, but he couldn’t shift from his seat.

It turned out he’d only have to wait until an hour past midnight, when the strip clubs seemed to disgorge guests, almost all at once, and half an hour later, he recognized some of the employees come out from the back of the building in a group. Since he’d kept his eyes fixed on the Nu D’Maitre, he caught sight of the divine mixer among them. They were all heading this way, chatting and laughing with each other. Liam clutched his drink and tried to steady his breathing. They were coming closer and closer, and their animated conversation was growing louder. They were almost right by the bar, when Cally noticed him, stopped, stiffened, and hung back from the crowd. The others soon noticed where he was looking. He had his eyes fixed on Liam, with splayed ears and a worried look.

“Cally!” Liam said, and waved. He had tucked away his sunglasses in a pocked. The sweatshirt and hat were bundled in the shopping bag he’d kept in his pocket for just this purpose. His jeans were just some jeans, there was no way a boy who wore a fake watch would be able to tell jeans by the brand.

“Hey...” Cally said softly, almost inaudibly, and stepped closer. There were murmurs from the crowd, which grew into excited whispers as they saw Liam.

“Fancy meeting you here, huh?” Liam smiled his most disarming smile.

“Yeah. Fancy that,” Cally said, collecting himself and letting his ears flick up to their raised position again. “S-sorry, Liam, I was just heading home. I’m a bit tired.”

“If you want you could join me, I could get you a cab after, no stress.” Liam said. “Come on, it’s on me.”

Several more whispers ensued in the crowd, and someone nudged Cally so that he stumbled slightly towards the bar. Liam picked up a few choice words from his colleagues, but Cally didn’t seem to take his time introducing them to him.

“Alright, if you say so,” Cally finally said, after what felt like a long time. “I’ll see you guys on Saturday, right?”

The small crowd exchanged hugs and goodbyes with Cally and headed off towards the end of the street, leaving Cally alone with Liam.

Liam remembered just in time, and got up to let the boy hug him. He put an arm around the boy and felt the slender spine curve slightly inwards at his touch. His single paw almost spanned the width of Cally’s shoulders; he was really tiny.

“Sorry if it seems random, but I was honestly just exploring the area, and figured I’d stop for a drink,” Liam said, as he pulled up a chair for Cally, and placed an order. “There sure are a lot of different clubs here.”

“Yeah, no, I was just surprised, that’s all. Don’t worry about it. Gosh, I’m gonna hear about it now.”

“They were your friends,” Liam asked.

“Some of them are, but all of them are colleagues. But they’re probably going to think something is going on between us.”

Liam didn’t dare straying close to the conversation Cally suggested.

“I noticed you all walk in groups.”

“Safety,” Cally said, and flicked his ears down. “It’s something the clubs ask us all to do. There have been...” Cally drew a deep breath, “incidents.”

There was a long silence, and Liam decided that was also not something he’d ask about. Cally’s ears drooped as he said it, and Liam felt bad. Of course, they were vulnerable. Of course, they would be prone to be preyed upon. He knew what sort of people visited strip clubs. He’d felt that from the other side of the stage lights, and he felt ashamed of his actions. If he’d had fewer inhibitions, and a predisposition towards it, he could easily snatch Cally off the street without much difficulty. The thought made his drink taste sour and unwelcome. He tried to change the subject.

“How was work?”

“Oh, I had a really good shift today,” Cally said, perking up suddenly. “I don’t know how to describe it!” a gentle metallic tink-tink came as his tail batted against his chair. “I had a customer who was really nice. He only... I mean, he... just watched.”

“Customer?” Liam asked. “Well, that’s nice, I mean, isn’t that normal.”

“N- yeah. What I mean is he tipped me without... without expecting anything.”

“Because you danced well?”

“Y-yeah, but not... not just a tip. More like a month’s wages. and they didn’t... they just... they watched and didn’t want…”

“Didn’t want anything more?” Liam couldn’t help himself.

“Y-yeah.” Cally’s ears drooped.

“Why?” Liam asked, he wanted more than anything to see the boy smile again. But the subject, and his experience with strippers, wouldn’t allow him to ignore this line of questioning just like that. Cally probably knew about his suspicions, if not about his direct experience. Ignoring it would be more suspicious. Liam just wanted the mixer to know he could trust him. “Do you often get asked to do that?”

“It’s... part of the job,” Cally said, and he was clearly uncomfortable. Liam didn’t need to dig like this, he didn’t want to know what Cally had to do to make the ends meet. But the money on the table earlier tonight now meant something else. He’d not just tipped, he’d bought Cally reprieve. He’d have to return now.

“Some people can get weird about that stuff,” Cally mumbled. “Please don’t tell anyone about it.”

“I’m not one of them, Cally. We good.” He bumped the dog’s shoulder with a fist. “We’re all doing it in some way or another, at least you’re more honest with yourself than I was.”

“I don’t appreciate the jokes, Liam,” he said, smiling uneasily. “But thanks. It’s very nice of you to be understanding. I don’t think many others would. It’s not exactly something I’m going to tell my dad, or anything.”

“No worries, mate,” Liam mimicked the Australian lilt.

“You’re getting better at the accent already.” Cally said, and got his smile back. “So yeah. This customer... By the way, and he’d gotten me the good amaretto, too. It’s usually a bit too pricy for me to get for myself, but it’s the best drink they’ve got. And not just that, but he also dropped like five hundred in cash!”

Liam smiled. “Do you know who it might have been? Has he been there before, I mean?”

“No, I couldn’t say. I don’t think I’ve had him before. There’s this coloured light which messes up the fur patterns, and my eyes don’t work so well in the dark. And weirdly, he didn’t even let me get close to him.”

Liam figured he might be entirely in the clear, so he wagged along with the boy.

“Well, That’s awesome, dude. I hope he returns, for your sake.”

“Yeah, I hope so too.” Cally sighed happily. “I don’t have to... you know... soreness and all that.”

Liam interpreted it as an invitation.

Once they finished their drinks, and chatted about Liam’s day, they headed out towards the main road and got into a cab together. Liam gave the driver Cally’s address, paid probably twice the going rate, and they headed off into the night. In the closed space of the cab, Liam could detect Cally’s scent a bit clearer. There was a lot of perfume there. So much so that it was almost certainly masking something. But years of smoking had taken the better part of his sense of smell, and he wasn’t sure he’d be getting it back. That made him think about his nicotine dependency. He usually felt it very strongly when he went into clubs and bars, but tonight, for all the wild emotions he’d felt, and his crazy heart rate, he’d not noticed it at all.

The next week or so, he spent his days walking around the streets near the hotel and CBD where he was soon to move and gained a familiarity with the area. He could track down all the places he’d saved in his phone without checking it now, save for Cally’s home, which was out in the suburbs. He’d found a couple of good restaurants, and a takeaway place which was open until four in the morning. He’d learned Cally’s work schedule, and every night Cally worked, he would get into his disguise and get his VIP pass in the bar. He’d leave fat tips for the dog whenever he danced and refuse any advances. Cally started his sets with his tail wagging now. His smile came easier. His advances, more insistent. In the end, Liam felt sure Cally wanted him to say yes.

But he couldn’t do that to his friend. He couldn’t let his friend understand that he’d used subterfuge and lies to get here. He was always glad to see the boy on the pole, and he couldn’t say what he enjoyed more. The marvellous sight of grace, or the big smile and warm gratitude when Liam paid for his time. He couldn’t take advantage of that just to get his dick wet. Even though that thought wasn’t as farfetched as it might once have been. Old Liam, given sufficient amount of alcohol and drugs, might just have closed his eyes and pretended Cally was a girl, and never spared him another thought after that. But Old Liam was a dying voice, fading every day.

As he was taking his breakfast in the hotel restaurant one morning some days down the line, he received a call from the real-estate agent telling him that he could come by to collect his keys. He quickly called Cally, because he’d recalled how much the dog had liked that place. Maybe he’d like to hang out? Cally didn’t pick up, but Liam left him a text instead. He might be asleep, he did work late after all, and the time wasn’t past 9am yet.

The real-estate agent had prepared a fruit basket for him when he’d arrived, as a housewarming gift. It had several exotic fruits in it which he’d not seen on the shelves back at home, as well as a bottle of fizzy wine, and a half-bottle of red from a local vineyard in the Hunter region. She handed him a key card for the elevator, but it hung from the real estate agent’s branded lanyard together with a conventional key, so he figured he’d be able to enter his apartment even if the power was out. Buried in the basket, there was a small document with the pictures of the apartment from the sales catalogue, and a helpful guide intended for first time buyers. There should be a service staircase in the back of the building, in case of fires, which he’d not seen on his tour of the apartment Liam brought the whole arrangement with him in the cab to his new apartment.

He realised he must have failed to read the fine print in the contract, or perhaps his lawyer had taken that choice from him, but the apartment was completely unfurnished when he entered.

He smiled to himself as he realised his mistake. This was a normal problem to have, like what normal people had, and for some reason that made him happy. Now he’d have to go out and buy his own furniture. He wondered if he’d have enough time to get a bed up here before night-time. There was nothing for it, he’d have to fix it himself if he wanted to sleep tonight.

After having checked out of the hotel, with his few belongings in a plastic bag, he swung by the bar. It was a habit by this time to balance his intake, regardless of the time of day. She was back, working the bar, and Liam decided he’d take the plunge.

“Hey… could I have a Caramel Lady?”

He sat down at the bar. He was the only one there, the time wasn’t past 12 in the morning yet.

“Sure thing, Mr Connor,” She said, casually as ever. She didn’t seem to intent on carrying the conversation, so Liam took charge. He was in a good mood today.

“So, you’re a fan then?”

She nodded, and turned to mix his drink, but he could see her smile in the reflection of the mirror behind the bar.

“Been listening since your first album.” She said, and handed him the drink. “I liked how you developed after that. I think a lot of kids my age felt the same as you.” Liam nodded contemplatively but didn’t say anything. What should he say? That he’d just guessed at these feelings and ideas, until they suddenly hit him at 31, ten to fifteen years older than his demographic?

“Yeah, I hope it’s easier for them than it was for me,” Liam said, but he felt a bit foolish saying it. He was a filthy rich dog with no real worries but his own psyche and addictions.

“Your songs helped me through some hard times, that’s for sure,” she said, and looked at Liam’s reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Outside, bright sunlight shone on the cars going by, blinking reflections back into the bar occasionally, as well as the shadows of people milling around like nothing else mattered in the world. Liam’s ears drooped.

“Family troubles?” he heard himself ask.

“What makes you say that?” She asked, but she wasn’t offended. Merely curious. Before he could answer, she continued. “Yeah, family can be a bitch sometimes. But you gotta stick together, after all.”

“Siblings?” Liam asked, “I’ve got none myself, but had plenty of trouble with my parents back in the day.”

“Yeah, two younger brothers. I had to watch them when I was little, dad was never home.”

“Oh, sorry to hear that.”

“Things are looking to get better now, though. Since my brother returned from America.”

“How nice. What did he do there?”

“I don’t know,” she said, and Liam found that he believed her. “He said he worked as an office intern. He hasn’t been talking much since he went over there. Dad said he got in with a bad crowd. Ended up owing more than he earned.”

Liam had to take a drink of the sweet cocktail she’d made in order to keep his expression in check. Either she was lying to protect her brother, or Cally had been lying to her about what he had been up to in the states. It was a private matter, of course. Liam had no business sticking his snout in it. But he couldn’t help it.

“Yeah, that’ll happen,” Liam said, as it felt like the most honest thing he could say at that point. “A lot of bad actors out there. They’ll go for lonely foreigners. I know the types.”

“So we saved some money, my brother and I, and we helped him whenever we could. It was much more expensive than we thought, but we finally got him back.”

Liam swallowed. Cally had been in business class. Surely he hadn’t paid for that with his sibling’s money?

“Trust me, America can be quite expensive, especially with this recession.” He mumbled. “What does he do, then? Working, I presume? I’m guessing you’d want to get that money back?”

“I don’t know what he does now, but since you mention it, he seems to be doing well. He’s been buying groceries and stuff for the house, and helping out with petrol money and stuff. I honestly don’t care about the money. It’s been so nice to have him back. It’s easier to catch a break at home now. But I rarely get to talk to him because he works so late.”

“He sounds like he takes care of himself, good for him.” Liam said, and sipped his drink.

The dog behind the bar folded her ears down and looked away guiltily, as if it was an accusation. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t unload on you, Mr. Connor. I don’t want you to think I’m being-“

“Don’t worry about it, hey,” Liam said, stopping her before she could apologize. “Let me have another one of these drinks, please.” He waved his glass. “Tell me about your brother, then, sounds like there’s more to him.”

“He’s different, I don’t know,” she replied, pausing while wiping down the counter behind the bar. “He’s not been the same since he came back. Even if he has money, he seems sad. And he spends a lot of time in his room, typing on his computer.”

“Maybe he tries to keep in touch with people he met over there?” Liam mumbled. “Time zones and all, you know. You only have so much time to spare”

Cally did say something about university, but he’d not said anything recently, and that wouldn’t explain why he was sad. But longing typically explained those feelings. Liam was no stranger to the immediate depression following a hectic tour, when he’d be alone again with his own thoughts, and not constantly surrounded by roadies and groupies.

“Hmm?” She asked absently. “Yeah, he’s probably still chatting to that online friend of his, or whatever. He said he knew people in the states when he first went, so I guess that’s what he’s been doing. But again, he’s quiet, and he doesn’t want to talk about his time there.”

“Perhaps he just needs to figure out how to say what he wants to say,” Liam whispered under his breath.

“What was that? Another drink, Mr. Cooper. It’d be on me. I’m sorry to unload, again. It’s unprofessional.”

“I… eh, that’s fine, I should get going.” He grabbed his belongings and slid off his stool. “It was nice talking to you,” he studied her name plaque for the first time, “Cindy. I’ll be back one day, I’m sure. You make a mean Caramel Lady. Take care now, and don’t worry. We could all use a bit of unloading every now and again.”

Liam dropped a few hundred-dollar bill on the counter. He left before she noticed it, and all he heard was her soft gasp as he went out the revolving door.

Liam felt warm sharing his money. Not with business partners, or his agent or lawyer, or others who already had enough, but with the people who actually deserved it. The young and troubled. The people who actually provided meaning with what they did. He had shared his thoughts with them all his life. They had listened to his complaints and he had reaped the reward. A reward that, he was beginning to feel, should make it back to them, somehow. He was curious how the situation between the siblings of the Cooper family stood. But he mostly wanted to talk to Cally. He wanted to see him dance, and indulge in the passions he had. He wanted to see him happy, and if he could, help him.

Liam scratched his head as he looked at the display of beds in the first and best furniture store he’d run into. He’d never had to buy his own furniture before. Should he just walk out with them, or did they come to him? He’d written down his address so that he could recall it if they asked, but he had no idea how he’d get this bed into his home. It was far too large for his elevator. But he needed a double bed, he told himself. He’d always had a double bed, and that was just how it was done. Perhaps it folded up or something. An employee appeared behind him, and Liam turned to face him.

“Hello sir, how may I help you?”

“This bed,” he began, and then he managed to process what he was looking at. “Holy shit, what the-”

He froze when he caught sight of Cally. But it wasn’t Cally. This one was younger and didn’t have the mole. He had the same caramel fur and large bat-like ears. Liam recognized him from the picture on Cally’s Instagram profile. He was the brother. He had a red cap and a red and white trimmed, collared t-shirt on with the furniture store logo on a breast pocket, and a pair of tan work pants with more pockets than were probably necessary.

“No freakin’ way,” The boy said simply. Liam recalled Cally had told him that his brother had been a fan of his music, but he hadn’t been prepared to meet him quite so suddenly. His jaw shivered when he spoke again. “You’re-”

Liam put a finger up to his muzzle, and gave him an intense look. He was so similar looking to Cally it was uncanny, but he wasn’t more than 18 or 19 years old, surely. Old enough to work, young enough to be called a kid. He still had those big, young eyes of a pup in the adolescent frame of a lanky, narrow adult. The same large eyes Cally had. Liam was lost for words.

“You’re his… brother?” He stuttered before he could stop himself. “I mean her brother.”

“Oh, my god. Oh, fuck, I can’t believe it,” He whispered, but at Liam’s insistent eyes, he kept his voice low, although his entire body was practically vibrating, and his tail was waving back and forth rapidly. Liam looked around, but they seemed to be alone in the shop for now. “Holy shit, Cindy’s not gonna believe this… What do you mean… brother?”

“Shit, okay. Eh… Listen kiddo. I need some help picking out a bed. Do you guys deliver?”

“I could ask.” He scratched his head. “Why do you know my brother? Are… holy shit, did you meet him in the states. Did he hang out with you? Oh, God that’s so cool!”

“Never mind that, kid. I’ll tell you later. Just get me this one...” He gestured to the first double bed he could lay his eyes on, “and get it to this address. Can you do that?” Liam showed him the note where he’d written his address.

His tail was wagging frantically now, he’d perked his ears and gotten bouncy like Cally sometimes got, whenever he talked about his dancing, and his mysterious patron.

“I’ll get it done, Would you like us to send a bill or would you like to pay right now, we also offer credit on some purchases with a market leading payment plan if you want. Oh, man is that your real address? Holy shit, I can’t wait to see… Imagine that, the actual Ell in…”

“Please… My real name is Liam. If you must. I’ll pay now, just keep quiet.”

He unfolded his wallet and dug out a few bills which represented roughly twice the price of the bed. He dumped them in the boy’s paw.

“Of course, sir. Thank you, Liam. Wow,” He stared at the money in his paws. “This is a bit much, I think.”

Liam searched around desperately for whatever he could say which might contain this pup’s endless enthusiasm. He was making a scene, and people were starting to look.

“Can you deliver now, like right this moment?”

“I’ll check, wait right here!” He yipped and ran off towards the back of the building, his tail beating happily. Liam stuck his paws in his pockets, and looked around again. He’d need to contain the dog, and make sure he didn’t run and talk to all his friends before he’d had a couple of words with him. He drew a deep breath and met the returning boy with a friendlier smile.

“I can take this to your address pretty much immediately. I have to pick it up at our warehouse, but-”

“I’ll come along, it’ll be cool, right?”

“You’re joking!” He let out a high-pitched whine in place of words, and his drooping jaw drew back in a wild grin. “W-we’re not really allowed to take non-employees along but... I don’t think anyone’s going to notice. You’re not going to film this, are you? For a music video. I have to talk to my boss if-“

“No cameras,” Liam assured him. “I’m just furnishing my own place here.”

“Alright... Alright! Come with me!” the pup grinned.

Liam followed the boy to the back of the building, where a door led out to an employee parking lot behind the store. Perhaps he’d have to help carry? Liam couldn’t say he minded. He was no longer some pampered celebrity who had everything done for him. He’d gladly help if he had to.

The boy pulled up in an old looking van with the company logo, and Liam got into the passenger seat. It was cramped, and the steering wheel was on the wrong side, so he felt as if he should have pedals underneath his feet. But it was nice and air-conditioned in here, and he let the cold stream soothe his brow for a few minutes while they drove out of the downtown area.

“I can’t believe I’ve got THE Liam Connor in here.”

“Ease down, Kid.” Liam said, but his enthusiasm was a bit contagious. Liam’s own smile stemmed from the thought that he might look like a colleague from an outside observer’s perspective.

The boy beside him was enthusiastically leafing through his phone at a red light, before Liam’s own music appeared on the stereo. It was a sweet gesture, but Liam had heard his own voice all his life, was more in the mood for talking, so he turned the stereo down to a polite volume.

“Sorry about the sudden surprise kid. What’s your name?”

“Oh, I’m Ced… Ced Cooper, sir… I mean Liam. Sir.”

“Ced, that’s an unusual name, isn’t it?”

His ears flicked for a moment, and he looked embarrassed, just like Cally had done when Liam had asked the same question.

“Yeah. It’s short for Cedric. Don’t laugh.”

“Nah, man… nah, it’s cool. So you’re Ced, I can dig it.”

“Dad gave us all a bit… weird names. I’ve got a sister who’s called Cinderella. Can you believe that?”

“You know, I can believe that, Ced.” Liam snickered.

“Then I have a brother, he’s called Calvin. No plush tiger, I’m afraid. He’s a top guy and all, which is why I can give him shit about it.”

“Aw, you should be nice to him, Ced.”

Ced’s ears were perking again, and his tail patted against the back wall of the little van’s cabin.

“He’s cool and all, but he’s kind of strange. Gets home late, goes out at every time of day. I think he’s learned it in the US. Oh, yeah, he went to the states. Dad says he got in a bad crowd and we had to bring him back. Did you meet him? Was that how you knew?”

“Bad crowd, eh?”

“Oh, no offense meant to your gang or clique, or whatever.” Ced laughed uneasily and glanced over to Liam. “I mean, proper criminals. Not like you. Not that I’m saying rappers are criminals, of course. I mean-”

“No, it’s cool Ced. I know what you mean.” Liam shook his head; the boy was so young still. “I’ve retired. You can say what you want.”

Even if Cally had said his brother had outgrown Liam’s music, there was an element of the naïve pup in him still. The type which they could and would abuse, in the industry Liam had left behind. Liam shuddered to think what they must have done to Cally, if he’d shared this wide-eyed young naivety when he first went to the states.

“So, you think your brother got caught in the wrong crowd? What happened?”

“I shouldn’t say, Liam. It’s… it’s personal, I think. I’m sorry. I’m not even meant to know, really.”

“Oh.” Liam mumbled. “Yeah, no, it’s cool, I’m not going to dig.”

The awkward silence stretched on for a bit longer.

“How about this brother… What does he do, anyways?”

“I’m not sure,” Ced said, “I think he works in a bar or night club. Once I saw him returning in the night. He tried to sneak in, but I saw him… He had uh… glitter in his fur, and he was really drunk, and wore a lot of perfume. It was gone in the morning. Do you know any place which does-”

“Yeah. It’s common in pretty much any night club. Lots of people smells, lots of guys and girls standing close together will do that. I’ve gotten glitter in my fur more than I can recall. Nothing to worry about.”

It hadn’t felt like a lie. He saw the relief in Ced’s eyes, which told him that the mixer had wanted to believe the lie more than he wanted to assume the truth. Most of it was true, anyways. Cally ought to be more careful with the glitter though. Once it got in your underwear, it took a long time before you were rid of it.

Ced pulled up to a large warehouse and ran inside with some papers while Liam sat in the idling van. In another moment, a few workers came out with Ced, carrying a large box and a plastic-wrapped mattress. It all went into the back of the van, and Liam was surprised to find that he didn’t have to say hello to any of Ced’s colleagues, nor did he hear any stray comments from them, about the big muscular dog with the tattoos in the passenger seat. Ced simply sprang back into his seat and fired up the truck, as quickly as he’d arrived.

“So, what does your dad do, then?” Liam asked, when they’d gotten back onto the road. That was a question too far, he realised, as Ced’s tail stopped dead, and his ears flicked back.

“Nothing, really.” Ced said, and then he was quiet. He was quiet for a long time, until Liam told about some anecdote from his career, which piqued Ced’s interests and distracted him. His ears were almost back up to their standing position, when they pulled into the apartment building’s underground garage. Ced heroically strove to manhandle the large box out of the van by himself, but he was not strong enough. He complained that he’d forgotten to check the weight and hadn’t brought the flat bed trolley.

Liam pushed him gently aside, and hefted the large box up onto his shoulder. It probably weighed as much as the boy himself. Ced managed to lift the mattress onto his shoulder, even if it was much larger than him, and together, they wrangled the flat packed bed into the elevator and squeezed in besides it. Liam touched his card to the elevator’s card reader, and the doors slid close.

“Fuckin’a you’ve got a view here.” Ced exclaimed, when he took in the great, empty apartment. “Where’s all your stuff?”

“This is it.” Liam smiled with the enlightenment of a Buddhist monk, and deposited the box in the middle of his living room. “This is all I own now.”

“Shit… what about your plats? Your Grammys? Didn’t you…”

“It’s all in the past, Ced. It’s all behind me. That wasn’t for me, anyways.” Saying it out loud was strange. At one point in his life, they had been all he ever cared about. But they felt as distant as the shores of his home country.

“but… Have you stopped making music?” Ced inquired, dumping the mattress down next to Liam with a thump. He seated himself on it, and looked out across the cityscape below. “Like… retired for real?”

“I think so.”

“Alright,” Ced hesitated…

“Look, Ced. I know you’re cool, but please, don’t tell your friends and colleagues that I’m here, okay? I don’t want to be a celebrity. I don’t wanna go back, you see.”

“Oh, sure. Sure.” Ced said. Liam wasn’t sure he understood. But he nodded, and there was genuine honesty in his eyes.

“Also, not a word to your brother or sister, for now. I think it’s best if we keep this between us.”

“You… What do you mean?”

“Here’s the thing, right. I met your brother on the flight over here, completely random, right. Then I checked into the hotel your sister worked at, also random. But you look so much alike, I knew they were related. If I also randomly bought a bed from the place where you work, I mean. It’d seem really weird, don’t you think?”

“So it’s a coincidence, right?” Ced asked “You’re not some weird stalker.”

Liam laughed uneasily.

“Nah, man. Not really. Just a random coincidence.” Liam confirmed, but he wasn’t so sure himself. “But I’ve been talking a bit to Cally, and he’s been telling me a little about this place, you know.”

“Do you know where he works?” Ced asked suddenly. “Have you seen him?”

“No, sorry mate,” Liam lied. It was tough lying to this kid, but it was not his truth to tell. “I see him every so often though. We keep in touch.”

“Oh, wow, what… you’re not dating or anything” Ced said and let out a laugh. Apparently, that was funny to him.

“Hah. Nah.. He’s just a cool dude.” Liam said. What other word could one use to describe visiting Cally’s place of work undercover, and paying him large tips, while he undressed to loud music?

“Alright, well. Backs to the wall, mate. Or he’ll get ya’,” Ced smiled, but hurried to add. “Don’t tell him I said that. And don’t tell Cindy, either. I love my brother, but you know, we joke around. But you know. We used to share a room for fifteen years. I’m not blind. I don’t wanna give him any more shit to worry about though. He’s had it rough.”

“Oh, I wasn’t aware. Don’t worry man, I’m chill.” Liam lied. He wasn’t chill, he was aware, and it was certainly not “no stress”. Why had he been told all of Cally’s deeper secrets, and his family, even his siblings hadn’t known?

“What do you mean by rough?”

“Just rough,” Ced said, and splayed his ears again, like he had done when Liam had asked earlier. “Not supposed to talk about that. I’m sorry Liam.”

“Nah, I’m sorry, Ced. Don’t worry about it.”

He felt bad. He was getting too close to this poor family, and he was just some rich dude outside. He pulled out his wallet.

“I appreciate your help. Here…” Liam said, and handed out the last couple of hundred-dollar bills from the stack he’d taken out a week ago. “I have to get going soon. There’s more stuff I need to get sorted before tonight.”

“Wow, Thanks man.” Ced wagged his tail. “It’s too much, really.”

“No, take it. I’ve got plenty enough to get myself through the week,” Liam joked, and patted the boy on the shoulder. His bank statement was still large enough that he wouldn’t notice a hundred, or a thousand, or even ten thousand dollars disappearing. After conversion, the number had grown by another couple million in Australian dollars. He waved goodbye to Ced, and sent him down with the elevator.

He was left alone in his apartment with a flat packed bed and a rolled-up mattress. He sat back on the mattress, still wrapped in plastic, and reflected on the strange encounters he’d had today. Where did one go from here? He had no tools or things to assemble the bed with, but he unpacked it anyways. He spent a cathartic hour trying to assemble the bedframe with the little hex-head tool which had come with the instructions. But in the end, he had to give up, and spread the mattress out on his living room floor. It lay there by itself, and somehow it looked like one of the most enticing beds he’d seen.

It was nearing afternoon, so he headed out again. He grabbed a burger from a local hole in the wall, and set out to find a bedroom supplier, or whatever they were called. He’d not had any luck searching for one, as he had no idea what the local chains were called, and the search term “Bedroom stuff” didn’t bring up the sort of results he’d hoped it might.

A likely looking shop some streets away had blankets and pillows, and bedcovers. He wasn’t sure what he needed but the initially timid looking mouse behind the counter seemed to know. Once she got talking, she approached her work as if Liam’s mattress was some kind of blank canvas, and she picked out pillows and scatter cushions, blankets and covers. Liam did not feel at home in the store, and just nodded and agreed to whatever she said. He ended up walking out of the store with his arms full, and stumbled back to his apartment.

He’d had a housekeeper for seven of his eight years as a professional rapper, but he’d grown up with a mother, so he was fairly confident he still knew how to apply all these sheets to his mattress. When his work was done, he stood back to admire it. The living room floor was now his bedroom until further notice. He sat down on the mattress and went online. Initially, he’d wanted to order furniture, but he had no idea where to start. What he really wanted was to ask Cally what he thought. Looking through the different furniture stores online, it all seemed to be the same stuff, everywhere. The colours and shapes were just distant ideas in his mind, and he couldn’t visualise them. He didn’t want to do anything just now, if it wasn’t with Cally. He’d always been a socially inclined guy, before all this mess happened, and he’d never had such a small circle of friends. Or rather, not a circle but a dot, like the mole on his cheek. He ought to meet more people. Perhaps Cally could introduce him to some of his friends?

He considered for a moment. There was a fizzy wine bottle here, somewhere. He’d wanted to open it ever since he got it in the fruit basket from his real estate agent. But he didn’t want to drink it alone. It had always been intended for him and Cally to share. He’d not heard back from Cally all day, after sending him the message that morning. Where was the boy. He sent another message, asking if he’d like to hang out tonight, after work. An hour passed, and nothing came through. Liam wondered what he was supposed to do now.

As night started closing in, Liam rummaged through one of the plastic bags which had accumulated in his apartment. There were far too many of them already, and they were strewn all over. He’d hid his disguise in one of these bags, but he couldn’t find it. He knew Cally had his shift on today, and he needed to be there. He had to.

The time when the VIP room opened and the dancing started was closing in, and there wasn’t any more time to look. What if he just… did it? What harm could it do? He could just sit there, like he’d done before, and enjoy the sight. Cally was a professional, no doubt. He’d dance for him no matter who he was. There would be nothing after that. Just dance, and leave. Same procedure as every night. It just might work. Or he could skip this one night. And let someone else enjoy the show. He recalled the sad look on Cally’s face as he’d told about the dancing, which he loved, and his work, which he didn’t.

Liam made his way to the club again, and this time he had dressed to fit in with the club’s clientele. He was wearing the same clean white shirt he’d arrived in, which still faintly smelled of Cally if he pushed it right up to his muzzle. He had a pair of clean, dark trousers, dark sunglasses and two new gold earrings, as well as a thin gold chain, which he’d gotten because there had been a deal on purchases over five thousand dollars at the jeweller. The black jeans on him were too tight, but he’d liked how they looked in the store. He hoped Cally would appreciate his new look. Which was, in truth, heavily influenced by his old look. He still lacked the rings on his fingers, which he’d not brought, but he had the Breitling around his left wrist still, so he still shone in the neon light. But it was all external, because inside, he was about to fall to pieces.

Liam got his VIP pass and climbed the stairs behind the threatening looking kangaroo bouncer, with his heart beating like crazy. His ears flicked constantly, and his tail was beating arrhythmically against the purple vinyl sofa. He shakily tapped the screen which indicated the various dancers, and selected Cally. He hesitated after that. There would be a few moments more in which he could run. He could just take off and not think about it. Leave a few hundred on the table and a note. Or, he could stand up straight, and be honest with Cally. Damn it, he would. He felt dirty when he hid away like he did. There was nothing perverted in what he had done. He’d let the boy enjoy his work without the pressure of having to put out. Art for art’s sake, and all that. If Liam couldn’t stand up and claim that ideal, then what kind of a dog was he? Bunny, the kind harlequin rabbit who had waited on him in the past, came up with the drinks which had turned into his regulars. Two glasses of Cally’s favourite wine. And a stiff drink to settle his nerves. Bunny hadn’t commented on the different clothing, he’d retained his professional smile as he served. But Liam didn’t suspect Cally would be able to.

Just when Liam thought his courage couldn’t hold out for another second, there was a rustle behind the curtains in the other end, and Cally came out to greet him in that way he always did, with his confident, enigmatic smile, but this time the smile didn’t hold, and his ears didn’t stand. As he stepped out and onto the stage, despite the light, he immediately knew something was different with his patron.

Cally was wearing a loose rendition of a schoolgirl outfit, with short skirt and a button-up short sleeved shirt. Instead of buttoning it, he’d tied it in a knot around his chest, so that it gave the impression of a cropped top or even bra. He was wearing knee-high white leg warmers, with only his toes poking out to display painted red claws, the same as his paws. All the perk and bounce went out of him when he saw the white bull terrier, practically shining against the darkness around him. Liam swallowed, and prepared to say something, but Cally didn’t remain quiet for long.

“Liam, is that you?” he asked. Hurriedly, he pushed some button near the edge of the stage with a foot, and the music died down. “What are you doing here? How did you-”

“Sorry, Cally,” He said quickly, “I know I should’ve told you sooner. But man, I couldn’t stay away.”

The confusion on Cally’s face lasted only for as long as it took him to notice the two wine glasses. “Wait... that’s the Amaretto.”

Liam nodded slowly, because he knew what Cally was about to ask. “As I said, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. I just wanted you to dance. That’s all.”

“Are... are you stalking me, Liam?”

“What, no!” Liam cried, a bit too loud, because Cally recoiled from the sound. “No, I’m not. Not... that much, really. I’m just, I don’t know. You were hesitant to tell me, so I went and found you myself. We can just talk, you know. You don’t have to dance for me if you don’t want to. It’s cool. Just hear me out.”

Cally shuffled over to him and seated himself cautiously at the edge of the sofa. He sniffed carefully at the glass of wine, but did not put it to his lips like he had done the other times.

“I don’t feel comfortable with this, Liam,” he said, slowly. That was a surprise to Liam. He thought he’d been the nice guy.

“Why? Is it because I’m straight?” Liam asked. That made Cally bark slightly and look at him incredulously. “What?” Liam sharpened his voice to meet the frankly insulting response he’d gotten for his concern. “Look, I’m here because I appreciate the dance, and furthermore, I like seeing you enjoy yourself. Is that so bad?”

“It’s not that, Liam,” Cally said, his ears splayed, He didn’t sit on the couch, he all but crouched, hovering right above it, ready to spring away at the slightest provocation. “You didn’t tell me anything at all, you just sat there. Just watched. And paid me. You could’ve just told me. What am I supposed to think?”

“A little gratitude would go a long way,” Liam protested. “I explicitly kept it clean, and I know you liked that. You told me, yourself. I thought I was doing you a favour here.”

“You could’ve done that without hiding from me,” Cally said, he let his weight onto the sofa, and carefully reached for his glass. It would seem his need to dull his sensations overcame his need to run away or be annoyed with Liam.

“Well, I... I’m sorry about that, as I said,” Liam said, splaying his own ears. “I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea. I only just met you, and suddenly I’m in your work place, pushing money down your underwear or whatever. I don’t want to ruin this friendship we have going by seeming like I want more.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Liam,” Cally said, coldly. “I’m not interested.”

Why did that single sentence suddenly sting in his heart. He had hoped Cally wasn’t interested, but for some reason.

“Oh, alright,” Liam said, and he couldn’t get his ears to stay up. “Uh, why?”

“Why?” He asked, annoyed. “Honestly, Liam. I don’t see why that’s any business of yours. I fuck customers. I don’t date them.”

“Hey, come on now,” Liam said, trying to ease the tension. “I wasn’t going to ask you for a date... Already got someone else, then?”

“Liam, please stop,” Cally said, there was both annoyance and pain in his eyes. Liam couldn’t get around it. He’d hurt him, he’d lied and creeped him out, and perhaps ruined their friendship. And he didn’t even know why he kept asking about these things. He thought he didn’t care.

“Okay, I’ll stop. I’m sorry. Perhaps I should just leave,” Liam hauled himself out of the sofa, but felt a paw on his arm as he was about to touch the door handle.

Cally looked up at him, from almost a foot below him, then looked away, and grumbled. “Wait... don’t go just yet.”

“Hm?” Liam flicked his ears up suddenly, and paused.

“As long as I have a client,” he muttered, “I don’t have to worry about being called up to another room. Sit down if you must, but don’t try anything.”

“I was never going to,” Liam said, honestly, and let himself plop down in the sofa again, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Did you mean it?” Cally asked, biting his lip. “That stuff about the dancing and all.”

“I really did, Cally. That’s always been why I came here. You’re damn good, man, there’s no getting around it. And you’re clearly enjoying it, and I mean, it’s not just showing off either. It looks like you’re enjoying yourself too.”

“And you swear you’re straight?” Cally asked. That one was meant to be easier to answer. But Liam had never really thought about it. Of course he was straight, he’d fucked probably hundreds of women of every species, in every position and configuration he’d cared to mention. He’d enjoyed them, they had made him cum and they’d made him horny, even when he was drunk. There was no doubt he had enjoyed his time with them.

“I’m sure about that, at least,” Liam said. But there came no response. He looked across to Cally, who was just staring at him. “Cally?”

“Then what’s that?”

Cally pointed to his trousers.

“What do you mean,” Liam asked confused. He was genuinely confused. “My new pants? You like them?”

“No, I mean. Yeah, they’re nice, but no, that’s not what I mean. You’re pitching a tent there.”

Liam laughed. He couldn’t help himself, it was just too funny. “Nope,” he said, and slid a paw down to his trousers. “I’m completely soft, right now.”

“What, no way.”

Cally fixed his eyes on Liam’s crotch in a way few other men had ever looked at him, but Liam knew himself better than that.

“The pants are just a little tight, that’s all.”

“A little tight?” Cally asked, “What do you mean, a little tight, how much-” he stopped himself, but Liam saw the question which he’d tried to get out resting on his expression.

“I thought you were upset with me, now you’re asking about my dick size?”

“I never said that,” Cally said, and flicked his ears down defiantly.

“Not with your muzzle, no,” Liam smirked, regaining some of his confidence, like he usually did when girls he slept with talked about his dick. It never failed to put a smile on his muzzle, even if he knew it was vein and superficial.

“Liam, if you’re going to be a dick about it-“

“Wanna see it?” He asked. Or rather, he heard his muzzle talk, and saw his paws move down to his fly. Cally’s eyes widened for just a moment, before he narrowed them, and frowned at Liam.

“I said, don’t be a cunt, Liam. You’re on thin ice here. If it weren’t for you being so nice and generous, I’d have you thrown out. This here is my place. It’s not a place where you belong. I only let you stay because you’re somewhat better company than the others.”

“I could be even better company,” Liam said, but he stopped himself, and pulled his paws away from his pants, to hold them disarmingly up as if Cally’s fierce glare was a loaded gun. “Hey, easy, man. I’m not gonna do anything you don’t wanna. I didn’t mean that... But hey...”

“But hey what?”

“Look, if you want to see... It doesn’t mean anything to me, okay?” Liam said, paws still splayed. “I’m straight. You want proof? I’ll show you the proof. And it doesn’t have to mean anything. And no, I’m not saying it’s because you’re gay and you have some need for cock or whatever. What I’m saying is that this room is private. I’m not going to ask you to do anything. I know you don’t like being used, nobody does. But, you know, I’ll not say anything if you won’t. But if you don’t trust me, see for yourself.”

Cally sighed. But he seated himself next to Liam, all the same. “That’s not how straight people act, Liam, I just want that on record okay?”

“I don’t care. I know what I’m about.”

“And you’re sure this is okay?” Cally said. “I mean, it’s not like I’m doing this because I’ve forgiven you for stalking me. You’ll have to make that up to me one day, Okay? This is just professional curiosity.”

Liam leaned back and let Cally work his pants button and fly.

What on earth had made him say all that? It wasn’t the drink. He hadn’t had a drink all day. The three glasses he’d left on the table remained there, and he didn’t even crave for them.

He studied Cally while he worked to undo his zipper, and tried to think of him as sexy, but it wasn’t happening. Cally was a good-looking dog, but whenever Liam imagined him with tits, they deflated and returned to his normal chest size. He remained as calm and as unprovoked as if he was in church with his parents. But when Cally’s paws tugged at the waistband of his boxers, something stirred at least. Then he heard the hushed whisper.

“Fucking hell.”

“What, something wrong?” Liam asked.

“Don’t you “something wrong” me, Liam. You’re big. What’s your problem?”

Liam smirked, he couldn’t deny that the compliment sat well with him. It always worked.

“Oh, God, you liked that, you egomaniac?” Cally said. That made Liam sit up straighter.

“Wh-what?” He asked, confused, and then looked down. His tip was poking out, and his sheath was growing, but Cally hadn’t put a paw on him. “Oh, fuck, Christ... Never mind that, it’s just, I dunno, a natural reaction.”

“I’m sure it is. How big does it get?” Cally asked, bold as anything. “I’m guessing it’s not the regular six inches.”

“Nine and a half,” Liam said. It was bigger than others’ and perhaps there were bigger ones out there, but it did the job well, and he never had anyone complain.

“Fuck me,” Cally said. He’d meant it as an exclamation, but Liam didn’t pick up the tone

“Really?”

“N-no, Liam, Jesus, I... Just put it away.” Cally grumbled and got to his feet. “You’re not going to do anything constructive with it anyways. It’s nice, I guess, but it’s kind of irrelevant.”

“Irrelevant?” Liam asked, “How so?”

“Well, if you’re straight, as you say, then I don’t suppose you came here to have some gay guy fuck you, or whatever.”

“I’m not here to fuck you, Cally.” Liam said, grasping for the reins from his subconscious train of thought. And failing. “But, well. If you’re offering, and you know I’d tip well... I kind of need it to go down again before I leave. These trousers, you know. Really tight.”

“That’s honestly the weakest excuse I’ve ever heard,” Cally said, experimentally weighing the emerging shaft in his paw. He wasn’t frowning. He didn’t even sound annoyed. The touch was nice, but no different to the hundreds of others who had touched it. Only that he was a guy. “Just this once, okay. Remember that. Then you keep it in your pants whenever you come here. Deal?”

“Deal,” Liam said, and leaned his head back. This wasn’t weird, he told himself. It wasn’t even abnormal. It was a bodily urge being satisfied by someone who had asked to satisfy it, and furthermore, worked to satisfy others in the same way. That was more like it. It was business. Liam was practiced in detaching himself from business, so he did just that.

He closed his eyes, and imagined Cally dancing. It wasn’t a bad thing to look at. But then he imagined Cally dancing for him and just for him. In the full and real knowledge that it was all his show and nobody else’s. He tried to ignore Cally’s soft swearing as he felt himself grow to his full size. He tried to ignore the urges which bubbled up. He tried not to think about the last time since he got laid. This wasn’t a lay, this was just a favour to a friend. That was it, he was simply giving Cally a chance to get some real cock from a real man, for change. No more of those dirty perverts who only came to have him service them, and probably didn’t even enjoy the dancing. Given time, perhaps Liam could become his only patron. Maybe he’d rescind that deal.

He knew he should keep his muzzle shut and let Cally do his thing. But he couldn’t help himself.

“Cally,” He said, eyes still closed and head still leaned back against the purple vinyl sofa’s soft headrest. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Cally didn’t say anything, but he kept stroking, as if conditioning Liam to go on. The sensation was pleasant, and it hadn’t stopped, so that was just what Liam did.

“I disguised myself because I thought if I went in as myself, you’d somehow not want to dance as earnestly.”

“Oh, Liam,” came Cally’s voice from down by his crotch. “I always put everything of myself into my shows, both the dancing and the performance afterwards.”

“Why didn’t you tell me where you worked?”

“I didn’t know you that well,” Cally said, “I’m not the same guy outside of work as I am here. When I leave tonight, we’re still just friends.”

“What if you came back to my place?”

“No, Liam. Be glad I let you take it this far, okay? I wouldn’t have done this to any other friend. Which is why nobody knows where I work.”

“What about...”

“Liam, when I’m not at work, I have someone else. I don’t want these worlds to cross over, but you have. I don’t intend to make that a habit. Consider this a favour, okay. And please... if you’re not going to use that muzzle for something other than talking, then keep it shut.”

“Wh-what?” Liam asked. Confused, he’d opened his eyes. Cally had slipped off his outfit, without him noticing, and was caressing and licking his cock while completely naked, sitting on his knees on the sofa besides him. The large, red shaft was about the same length as his whole head, muzzle and all. And his tail was wagging.

“Yo, what the...”

“I said, either put up and shut up, or zip up and leave.”

Liam decided on the former and shut his muzzle. Even when Cally explicitly said it was fake, when he said it was just his job, Liam couldn’t stop himself. He kept his eyes open, and his cock remained hard as the mixer worked it with his soft, slick tongue. Cally’s butt stuck into the air. From Liam’s slouched position, he was almost at eye level with it. It was definitely not a regular guy’s butt. This one was round and kind of small, but still the right kind of shape. If he ignored the sack hanging down between Cally’s legs, it was pretty much a girl’s butt. Actually, half the girls Liam had seen would have given their left arm for an ass like that. From behind, he could definitely convince himself that Cally was a girl. It’d be no problem at all. He put a casual paw on the butt, and tested it with a gentle squeeze. Cally didn’t turn his attention away from his cock, but he half closed his eyes, as if the touch itself gave him some sexual thrill. Liam found he liked the feel of the soft brown fur. A strain of the playboy lifestyle still lingered in him, because his body acted on its’ own, like it usually did whenever he lost himself to drink and drugs. Only he was completely sober for the first time in years.

He tugged at Cally’s tail, which caused a small yip to escape the mixer, and pulled Cally’s legs so that he sat astride his chest, face down. There was no other word than presenting which felt right, but Liam had done this before. There was only one way to get anal to work, and it was with good preparation. He stuck his muzzle up to Cally’s tail, and lapped at the soft patch of exposed skin underneath it. Cally hadn’t expected it, but had no complaints about it. He moaned, in a professional manner, but Liam just smiled. He could tell the difference between a fake and a real one. They usually started out fake as a reflex, but were rarely fake by the end of the night. Cally’s scent was also a surprise to him. It wasn’t strong, though, few scents were to him, but this one was even fainter than he’d expected. It was subtle and clean. A pure and undiluted scent, which only said Cally, and nothing else. No perfume down here, no scent mask. But he’d also cleaned himself. Despite having had a non-sexual customer for a week, he’d still taken care, just in case. That was perhaps something Liam should have attached more meaning to, but right then and there, he just wanted to make more soft moans come out of the boy’s muzzle.

Cally eventually grew bold enough to try and take him inside his muzzle, but there was no chance that was happening. He could do well with the first few inches, but he couldn’t stretch his jaw across the whole thing. So he gave up, and used his paws, while Liam prepared his ass.

“You’re sure about this, big boy?” He asked, as Liam patted his butt. Spit dripped from his tailhole and soaked its soft, but cropped fur.

“I’m sure. It’s all professional,” Liam said, because he felt he needed to clarify that, in case Cally got too into it.

“Sure, big boy just go a little slow in the beginning. Thanks to you, I’ve not had a good fuck for a while. Might be out of shape.”

“Sure, whenever you’re ready,” Liam said, and pushed him down to his lap, in a reverse cowgirl position. “You sure you can handle this?”

Cally raised an eyebrow at him, and turned away, lifting his tail and sliding the wet cock between his cheeks. Liam couldn’t have stopped him, even if he’d used every single muscle in his body. His little pointy tail was curled upwards, and Liam ran a paw down the mixer’s back to caress and claw at the toned, firm body. Liam felt his small, but deceptively strong paws around the base of his shaft, as Cally guided his tip up to the base of his tail, and slowly pushed back on it.

“You don’t want lube, boy?” Liam mumbled into his ear, and they flicked as he breathed heavily in them.

“I came prepared,” He murmured back. “Try to keep up.”

Liam couldn’t help but admire his cockiness. He wondered which one of them had more experience, then. Well, Cally had obviously had more cocks in him, but Liam had fucked more girls anally than he could count. Some of them were into it, others didn’t like it. Cally seemed to be one of the former. If he let old Liam take over more of the action, he’d probably show Cally a thing or two, but it’d be a distant experience, almost hateful. So, he let Cally pick the pace, and settled back to try, and fail, to imagine him as a girl.

Cally leaned back further and further, finally finding enough room for Liam inside him, resting on his knees astride Liam’s lap. This boy felt way better than any girl he could recall. It was an intense, pleasurable tightness and warmth. It seemed that Cally hesitated, perhaps reaching his limit. Liam encouraged him on with gentle thrusts and nudged, until Cally slid all the way down his shaft. Carefully at first, but he let out a moan of pleasure as Liam started to fill him up and stretch him out.

Liam could feel the pressure of the mixers tight hole, reluctantly stretching little by little and becoming used to the size. The soft gasps had melted into a passionate moan. He knew he had the little mixer in his grasp then. Even if Cally had set the pace, Liam had full control over it, and he exercised that control. He started thrusting, gently at first, and got Cally panting after just a few laps.

“Oh... Had enough already?” Liam teased, trying on his confident air.

“Heh… AH,FUCK!” Cally exclaimed, but he strove to match the cocky tone. “Try again, big boy. I- ahh- I could go all night.”

Liam play growled, reaffirmed his grip on the boy’s thighs, picking up his pace slowly.

“You might have fucked more guys than me, but you’ve never fucked a guy like me,” he heard himself say.

“You’ve never fucked anyone like me,” Cally retorted, clenching his teeth and grinning.

No matter what Liam said, Cally would respond with a challenge, until one of them were pushed over the top. It went like that sometimes. He wanted to see where this ended. He thrust up into the boy’s tight ass. The heat of their bodies combined, drawing out beads of sweat along Liam’s brow. Their scents and breaths mixed, filling the room to such an extent that even Liam could pick them out clearly.

“Go, go for it, big boy… Show me why you’re such a fucking... ahh... fucking star,” Cally panted, his tail batted from side to side. Liam started to gain a feel for his limits. In truth, Liam could only just keep up. Cally was no slouch, and Liam had spent the better part of the last few years lifting weights and forgoing stamina exercises. Cally worked Liam’s cock in just the right places, clenching and unclenching seemingly at random but it was all following a rhythm. That rhythm was meant to get Liam off. He felt himself getting close, and he’d make sure this cocky little mixer knew it. He pulled Cally close to himself, and lifted them both up, before slamming the boy down on the soft vinyl sofa, belly down. Cally yipped happily as Liam positioned himself above him, and put his arms either side of the boy’s slender neck.

Cally was not as tight now, but still amazing to feel against his cock. Liam felt like some devil corrupting him, where he worked away above him, pushing his chest and head into the sofa cushions and growling in the mixer’s ear with every thrust. This beautiful, graceful boy who wanted only to dance. Dyes and glitter transmitting to his white coat. Sweat glistening on caramel fur. Liam wanted him. All to himself. All other notions had gone out of the window. His tail started wagging, his ears perked and he went even harder to the accompaniment of more and more urgent whines and higher pitched moans. Liam could feel the balance between Cally’s pleasure and pain from the sounds alone, and he stuck to a tempo only one increment above what that Cally was able to handle. Cally soon screamed out in passion, swearing and moaning uncontrollably. Liam forced himself to hold it in, though that was getting harder and harder. Cally suddenly bucked and twitched, crying out in a ruined, ragged voice. Perfect.

Liam pushed, and he squeezed himself all the way inside the boy. Cally held his breath slightly, as he slid across the knot and clenched around the base of Liam’s cock. He thrust against the boy’s hips, and felt the wet sensation around his cock as he filled him with cum. Cally could only pant with a ragged, short breath, as 9 inches of cock and a knot the size of an orange filled him up. Even exhausted, he didn’t fail to perform absolutely perfectly.

They were tied now, there was nothing more to do about it. As Cally regained his breath, Liam picked him up. He was light, and not difficult at all to place on his lap. Cally let out a whimper, leaning back into Liam’s embrace. He wasn’t much of a cuddler, and this had been a transactional encounter, but Cally didn’t look like he’d be able to sit upright by himself.

“What. The. Hell was that, Liam?” He asked after a while, still with an ass full of cum, which dripped out in a gentle stream and trickled down into the recess left by their bodies pushing into the cushions. It made more sense now why an expensive club had cheap vinyl sofas.

“It was sex, I guess. Thought you’d know?”

“That’s just unfair!” Cally panted. “I didn’t get a chance.”

“I like taking charge, I guess,” Liam smirked, and clutched him closer. “But you were a great fuck.”

“Glad to hear it, big boy.” Cally panted and flicked his ears. His muzzle was still stiffly pointed forward. “That’s what most people pay for anyways. Well. It’s mostly me who has to do the fucking. Is it really your first time with a guy?”

“Yeah…” Liam stroked a paw down to feel how wet Cally had gotten around his belly and chest, where he’d shot his load. He asked “Was it good?” not really needing an answer.

“It was intense, that’s for sure, and a damn work out, yeah.”

“And that’s not just a thing you say because you’re a professional?” Liam smirked, though he did notice that Cally avoided that last question.

“It is my job Liam. Don’t forget that. Only a job. But yeah, it was different.”

“How so?” Liam asked.

“I didn’t mind.”

“Didn’t mind?” Liam almost laughed. “Man… You’re the best I’ve had by a long shot… Wanna go again?”

“Easy there. Not now.” Cally laughed. “I don’t have time left in my shift to go twice in a night.”

“How about after?”

“When I walk out that door, we’re friends, and I have a partner. Okay?”

Liam flicked his ears down. But it was what he had agreed to. He’d have to come back for more another day, perhaps.

“Who’s the lucky fella, then?”

“That’s none of your concern, Liam,” Cally said, and again his tone was cold and recalcitrant. “I appreciate the money, and you’ve been really good in other ways too, but I don’t intend to discuss my boyfriend when I’ve got someone else’s cock in my ass.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll catch up with you later,” Liam said, and he tried to pull himself free of Cally.

“Hold up, big boy... Let’s just... take it a bit slower, okay. At least wait for your knot to go down.”

Liam shrugged, and leaned back on the couch. “Fair enough. Wasn’t sure how loose you’d be. How about that wine then?”

Cally handed him one of the two glasses of wine they had neglected, and took one for himself. They sat for a while exchanging awkward small talk and drinking while Liam receded. He didn’t dare to ask more pertinent question, but one thing cropped up in his mind.

“I didn’t know your sister worked at the hotel I stayed at. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I honestly didn’t know. She’s gotten that job while I was away. Didn’t keep in touch with her.”

“Yeah, she mentioned that,” Liam mumbled offhandedly and wiggled his hips. The movement caused Cally to draw his breath sharply through gritted teeth.

“What did you guys talk about?” He asked.

Liam considered how to best word it so that it didn’t sound like he was accusing the boy on his lap of anything. “She talked about you, actually.”

Cally stiffened only slightly, but for Liam, who had his cock in him, it wasn’t hard to pick up on the movement.

“She said she didn’t know what you did over there. But she thought you were an office clerk or something.”

Cally sighed and let his body relax a bit. “Yeah, I couldn’t tell her I was a stripper, could I?”

“Were you?” Liam asked reflexively.

“Did she say something else?”

“Nothing, really. She said you’d fallen in with a bad crowd and they had to get you home.”

Cally sighed again and folded his ears down. “That’s not entirely true.”

“Why, what happened?”

“nothing, I just needed money to get home. Urgently. I had to make sure, without them thinking I was some failure or something.”

“You didn’t look like a failure in your suit in business class... Why didn’t you travel coach if you were poor.”

“Ah, jeez. Liam, I don’t think I want to talk about that right here, right now, okay?”

Cally tried to pull away from him, but it was clearly causing him pain, and Liam pulled him down again. “Hold on, there. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“No more than I’ve already been hurt,” Cally spat. And suddenly, there was no warmth between them. And there was no explanation forthcoming for why the warmth had gone away. As soon as the knot shrunk to a manageable size, Cally managed to pull free. He stumbled on unsteady legs, and headed for the door to the backstage area without saying goodbye. Liam was left seated, with a pair of damp trousers, his half erect cock, and the thick smell of cum all about him. And he felt confused. Was he really feeling this sensation of hurt over a prostitute walking out on him. At any other point in the last eight years, this would’ve been a small victory. No autographs, no silent alarms at five in the morning to get away, no fake numbers. But as Cally had left, he felt hollow inside. As if he’d caught just a small scent of something deeply wrong. Not with him, but with Cally. He stumbled to his feet, but they were shaky after the heavy work out, and his trousers were matted with spunk, and very much not in any shape to go outside in. He wondered if Cally had a backstage room he could borrow. He’d have to, really. He simply could not come out of a gay night club with cum down his pants, and risk being recognized. There was only a matter of time before the media attention caught up with him. And then he’d not be able to spend more time here. So he pushed through the door where Cally had disappeared.

Backstage consisted of a narrow corridor which lead into a slightly less narrow corridor. Along one wall there were anonymous institutional wooden doors with name plaques on. Along the other, a series of windows pointing out to a brick wall, and a narrow alleyway behind the building. Liam glared at each of the name tags until he saw Cally’s name on one of them, as well as another name. He pushed the door open without knocking. He’d already seen Cally naked, there wasn’t any reason to hide.

“Liam, what the fuck?” Cally’s voice came. He was seated in front of a mirror. He held a damp, colour-and-glitter stained cloth in one paw, and half his face and muzzle was damp too. And his eyes looked raw. They were bloodshot and burning, and glaring with coldness.

“Who’s that, Cally?” Some other voice came from the other side of a door with WC written on it.

“It’s this one guy I had, hold on, I’ve got this.”

“Cal,” Liam said pleading. “Sorry alright, I’m sorry if I said something wrong, but please listen to me.”

Cally wasn’t listening. “Get out of here, this is employees only. I’ll lose my job if anyone sees you here.”

“just... Just listen quick. Look at this,” Liam said, gesturing at his trousers and the white marks all over them. Cally looked from him, to his trousers, and back at him again.

“Oh, for fucks sake,” He sighed and closed the door behind him. “I was just starting to think you’ve done this before.”

“Pussy juice doesn’t carry quite the same stigma as getting cum all over my pants and then staggering out of a gay strip club.”

Cally sighed. “Wait here. I’ll find you something to clean it off with.” He turned and called to the bathroom door. “Ash, can you keep an eye on this guy, I have to grab some fresh towels from the storeroom. He’s spent, don’t worry.”

“Spent?” Liam muttered, but Cally headed out before he could hear him. He heard the flush and shuffling from the bathroom, and soon after, a completely black mouse came out, draped in a towel and nothing else.

“H-hi,” Liam said, hesitantly. “I’m... well. Please don’t tell anyone.”

The mouse’s jaw fell, then his towel, revealing that he wasn’t entirely black, but had a patch of thin, white fur from his navel and down across his sheath, to around midways down the inside of his thighs.

“Jesus,” he said softly, and instead of covering his privates, he brought his shaking paws up to his whiskers, which he preened seemingly automatically. “Cally, what have you gotten yourself into this time...”

Liam shrugged, and gestured awkwardly to his pants, which he felt perhaps the black furred mouse might sympathise with more acutely. He somewhat caught his senses enough to grab for his towel and wrapped it around himself, still maintaining fixed eye contact with Liam.

“So, I take it your name is Ash?” He asked, sheepishly, while looking around the room. His eyes fell on a computer with some chat program open, and a lot of sent messages. “Friend of Cally’s?”

The mouse nodded, then blinked a couple of times, perhaps to reassure himself that Liam was still there.

“Do you... eh... want an autograph?” Liam tried. He wasn’t sure what he should do. What he wanted most of all was to keep the news from spreading as much as possible. And that meant getting some kind of promise out of this mouse.

Ash swallowed and nodded. Liam took this as a sign that the conversation had been initiated, and he began chatting while looking around for a pen. “So, you’re a stripper too?”

“Y-yeah,” Ash said, softly almost to the point of being inaudible.

“And, eh... are you guys friends outside of this too?” He asked. Ash nodded, cautiously.

“I’m friends with everybody,” he said in a very fragile tone.

“How did you end up here?”

“Same way most of us did, I guess.”

“And how is that?” Liam asked. He’d tracked down a sharpie, and was searching for something to write on. He looked quizzically to the mouse.

“Mostly creative arts kids, and older dance school students. Anyone who’s talented enough or shows enough promise.”

“How about Cally, how did he come here.”

“I don’t think I should say sir, I mean, Mr-“

“Liam is fine,” Liam said, and finally found something to write on, an old notepad with a few blank pages left which had been left in an open shelf. “To Ash,” Liam said, as he wrote. “Don’t tell anyone about me, Liam Connor aka Elaborate.”

He ripped the note out, handed it to Ash, and stuck the notebook in his trousers.

Ash read the note a few times, before looking up. “What’s all this about? Why are you here? They say you just disappeared?”

“It’s a long story,” Liam said.

He was about to dismiss the mouse, and just tell him to keep quiet. But then he had another idea. He couldn’t lean on Cally all day and all night and hanging out with his siblings without his knowledge was not an option. So why not try and make some friends who had nothing to do with Cally? Well, apart from being his friend and colleague. But it was a start, surely.

He took the paper out of Ash’s paw, who had only held it very limply, still visibly starstruck. “If you can keep a secret,” Liam said, and scribbled some numbers down on the back of the paper. “Here’s my number. If you promise not to tell anyone, I’ll let you in on the secret.”

The mouse looked as if he was about to faint, and Liam only realised after he’d handed away the paper again that his actions might be construed as flirtatious. Well, here he stood with cum on his pants in a pair of male strippers’ personal changing room. How else was he supposed to format it? He’d just make sure to tell Ash that he was technically straight if the mouse took him up on the offer. Before they could exchange more pleasantries, Cally returned with a towel and some cleaning detergent.

Getting the stains out was thankfully easier than he’d expected. Some stain remover, and a damp towel was all that was required. Afterwards, Liam had to wait for his pants to dry, and Cally had to get showered, leaving him with the instruction to not touch anything, and get out as soon as he could.

Ash had been called out to a customer, and had left Liam alone in the room while Cally showered. Liam couldn’t help but let his eyes wander around while he sat in a sofa, mostly strewn with clothes and costumes. He caught sight of a calendar full of nude males, mostly show dogs with short fur and muscular bodies. He’d not looked so different from those, at the height of his career, but he’d recently acquired a paunch. Not enough to get in the way but enough to hide his six pack, which had annoyed him.

Stuck to one mirror was a polaroid of Ash and Cally, arms around each other and smiling to camera. The picture was very old, because Cally looked even younger in it. It must have been before he left for the states, if there was any truth to the four years he’d said he was there. He felt bad for doubting Cally, but it was necessary. There was certainly something he wasn’t telling, and he was keeping it from his family, too. Liam felt he shouldn’t intervene, but he also felt that he should. He felt bad for Cindy and Ced, and he wanted them to feel like they could trust their brother. He’d lived his own lie for so many years, he knew how vicious and controlling it could become, and if he could help someone out of that, he would. But he wasn’t so sure that they ought to trust him, just yet. His eyes fell on the laptop he’d spotted earlier. It was still open on some chat program. Liam casually read a few of the names in the contacts. There was Cindy’s name, and there was Ced. Both were left on read. There was a few names he didn’t recognize, and then a contact named Ash. But the window was open on a conversation with someone called Joel. There was a little heart next to his name. That must’ve been the special someone Cally talked about. There were a lot of messages in between them. Long, wordy messages. Before he could read any of the messages, there was a slam from the bathroom door, and Cally strode over to him briskly, dripping wet and draped in a white towel.

“Get away from that laptop, Liam!” He almost shouted. His appearance and voice came so sudden and sharp that Liam jumped and threw his paws up reflexively.

He came over, and smacked the lid down with a snap. “What did you read?” he demanded.

“Wh-what?”

“What. Did. You. Read.” Cally growled. “Did you look at that screen?”

“Just names, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was looking at.”

Cally sighed, and picked up the lap top, hugging it to his chest. “I think you should go, Liam. Please don’t come back here.”

“What, hey, wait a minute,” He said, but Cally had his phone in his paw. He aimed at Liam like a remote control. “Please leave, Liam, or I’ll call security. I don’t want to do it. Just do as I say...”

“But wait, Cally,” Liam pleaded. “C-can we talk?”

“Maybe...” He said. “But not tonight. Not tomorrow night. Not before I say so. And never... Never here. Go.”

He wasn’t messing around. Liam was confused, and the confusion made him hesitate. He lifted his paw, as if to grasp for Cally’s arm, but the mixer recoiled and flicked his ears back. There were tears in his eyes, and a scared, worried look to him. Liam swallowed and backed down carefully.

“Sorry, Cally. Just... just take it easy. I’m going now.”

And with that, he went. Dejected and frustrated, and more curious than ever.

Liam woke up alone. It was not an unusual feeling. But it felt unusual all the same. He smelled of sex, still. His champagne bottle that he had gotten from the real-estate agent was empty and discarded on the floor. Again, not unusual. Years of this lifestyle didn’t just leave your system like that. But after he’d left Cally half crying, half furious in the changing room, he couldn’t recall what he’d done. Somehow, he’d ended up in his apartment with a hangover. That was at least a good thing. He could still remember most of the night preceding Cally shouting at him with some clarity.

Holy shit, he’d just fucked another guy. And that wasn’t even on the top ten list of his most confusing or strange moments that night. Had Cally really been upset with him? Had he asked Cally’s friend out on a date, without knowing it? Had he... stolen Cally’s notebook?

He rolled off his mattress, and sat upright. His eyes were red and sore. His whole body felt sore with exercise fatigue.

Scrabbling around on the floor, he managed to snatch one of his pant legs. He fished his phone out of his pocket, and along with it, a small black square, the size of a credit card, and as thick as a CD case fell out and landed on the floor. He rubbed his eyes, checking his new messages. There was one there, but it was not from Cally. It was his lawyer Mike. Mike said simply,

Congratulations on your house purchase. It’s in the news. You have to deal with the fallout of this yourself. I can’t help you with this.

He sank a shot of vodka as soon as he had gotten to his feet and prepared a simple vodka tonic to go. His hangover cure, which had never failed him yet, consisted of getting just tipsy enough to pass the day, and then slowly coming down, eating a lot and drinking plenty of water. He looked back to his mattress while he sipped his VT. His house looked a mess already. Cally still hadn’t seen his apartment. But he couldn’t call him. The furniture store was the only place he could think of right then, so he looked up their number and gave them a call.

Ced came through half an hour later with a little tool bag. He was enthusiastic about the apartment as ever, but when he entered, his nose wrinkled for a moment, just enough to make Liam self-conscious. The younger mixer assembled the bed right there, where he’d helped carry it just the day before. Liam realised only after he’d left that the bed had been assembled in his living room, and it was far too large to go through the bedroom door. He didn’t feel like calling Ced back and admitting that he’d made another blunder, and anyways. What was the big deal anyway? It wasn’t like anyone was going to complain about the interior of a million and a half penthouse apartment.

Sighing, he pushed the bed to the spot where the mattress had been and leveraged the mattress into the frame, in front of his full size windows. He’d fall asleep to a nice view, at least.

He studied the room which could have been a bedroom. It was of decent size and height. With some dark curtains, and perhaps some cool art on the wall, some lights... but that would be silly, and vain besides, and where the hell did you get a stripper pole anyways? Furthermore, he didn’t like the idea of owning a purple sofa, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever see Cally again. It would be better if he tried not to obsess so much about him. Cally wasn’t some bird of paradise, who could be enticed with pretty things. He clearly had some issues to work on. And he HAD a boyfriend, though it seemed, if anything, to be complicated. While tidying up a few bags and bottles in the living room, Liam noticed the little notebook he’d inadvertently taken form Cally’s changing room. He sat down on the side of his bed and studied it. It had several pages filled with tiny writing in a paw that was difficult to read. It looked like a mix between shorthand and braille, but some words and numbers stood out to him. Cedar Hill. Mr. Orsted. 09/05-18. Clarence Spring Rapids Camp. Nu’ D’Maitre.

The rest was a garbled jumble of letters and numbers. Liam flicked a page, and checked it, but the letters here were jumbled too. Spots of brown, presumably some dirt or food residue, had dripped onto the paper, and the following few pages had the same writing on them, with the small spots growing more and more faint as he leafed through. The last few pages, however, he could understand. It said simply ‘Joel’ and then it said. ‘I’m sorry.’ The next page said the same thing, but the word ‘sorry’ was repeated several times. The last page, which, when he flipped the book the right way up, was the first page, was simply filled with little words, all saying the same thing, all written in the same hand, with the same pen. ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again. Liam furrowed his brow as he read. He immediately knew he wasn’t meant to see any of this. It was something Cally must have wanted back. Or, if he were to give it back, what would Cally say. Cally would rightfully wonder why he had the notebook in the first place. This could complicate things.

He could throw it away, and pretend it didn’t exist. Pretend he’d never seen it, and when Cally went looking for it, try to convince him that he’d misplaced it somehow. But this thing looked worn and beaten. It had been well used, and was unlikely to be something Cally just left behind, even disregarding the strange, emotional... something on the last few pages. If Liam didn’t see a cry for help in those pages, he didn’t see a thing.

Curious, he googled the words in turn, which he’d been able to read. Cedar hill gave about a million different results. Small and big places all around the US and some here in Australia too. He didn’t know what to make of that. The date was clearly a date, but it was two years old, and he didn’t know what it meant. He didn’t know if it was possible to look for specific dates, and he didn’t know he’d be looking for if he did. So he googled the name. There were about three hundred people called Mr. Orsted on the west coast alone. So there was nothing there he could gain. Then he googled the last name.

Clarence Spring Rapids Camp had their own website. It was a camp located somewhere in Oregon, in the mountains somewhere. There were pine forests and snow-capped mountains on display on their website and a lot of smiling kids of various species. There was surprisingly little reading to be had, other than a tab called “Legal disclaimers,” where a long and boring looking stock document loaded up, and Liam clicked it away. Other than that, the site had a lot of pictures, and some Christian religious stuff. Great, probably one of those summer camps for troubled kids. Perhaps that was what Ced and Cindy had meant when they said he’d gotten in with a troubled crowd? But why would any Australian gay guy want to hang out with a bunch of dry looking religious people? He’d probably not find an answer to it, and he didn’t dare ask Cally about it, for fear that he’d get suspicious. So he shoved all the information to the back of his head, stuck the notebook in his back pocket with his wallet and phone, and strode outside.

Liam felt he needed something proper to eat instead of vodka and tonics and made his way downtown. He avoided the regular burger and pizza places where he’d usually go to eat his hangovers away. In a back alley where he’d not been before, he found a small afghan restaurant with a faded interior and a crack in its’ glass door. In there, he had what might have been the worst meal he’d ever had.

He made his way home via some faceless bar, where he only necked a few shots to settle the bad meat in his stomach. He couldn’t settle the slightly uneasy feeling which was creeping in. He’d always had a sleazy bitch in his bed, if only to warm him whenever he was too drunk to fuck. Now he went back to his new empty bed in his empty apartment to enjoy his new empty life, and he was alone. It was an improvement from his old life, he was sure, which only went to show how bad his life had been. But he was disconcerted to see how little was left after he’d stripped all the bad parts out.

He woke up to a message from an unknown local number, and a call from an unknown, international number. He picked up before thinking about it clearly. From the other side rang a familiar, ragged voice which sounded like it smoked entire rolled up carpets.

“Holy shit, it really is you,” came his agent through the line. His voice was ragged, as if he was panting. But with his lifestyle that might have come from wheeling his office chair across the room.

“Cee?” Liam asked, needlessly. Nobody sounded like Cee, a mix cigars, whiskey and new jersey so unmistakeable that his name almost insinuated itself into the listener’s head before they knew it. He was called Big Carl. That was his legal name.

“You betcha it’s Cee, you son of a bitch. What the fuck were you thinking? Why aren’t you answering my mails?”

“Where did you get this number?” Liam asked, weakly, still groggy from his sleep. “Is it published somewhere?”

“Don’t you worry your sweet little head, baby, daddy has his methods”

“Cee, go to hell. What do you want?”

“You think you could just leave like that? We have a deal, Liam. You’re still under contract, you can’t just break it now.”

Liam hung up and blocked the number. He didn’t care, and he didn’t have the energy to deal with Cee right now. Mike had taken care of the legal stuff, he’d been assured. Liam was in a different country, he was a different dog, and he had something nice going here. Cee couldn’t touch him. All the frustration and confusion inside him had conspired to put him in a bad mood, which Cee had not alleviated. He didn’t want to hear about the contract or the old life he’d had. Cee would inevitably talk him into doing more concerts, interviews, and make him more money. The idea of interviews with them, these well-to-do airhead hobos, these intellectually dishonest charlatans made him angry and restless. And of all places, not here. Liam did not want them intruding on his space like that. He needed to get out and calm himself around some people who were real and honest.

Fifteen minutes later, he sat in Alex’ cozy little gay café, nursing a coffee which Alex had recommended. This was his sanctuary, it was a space where he didn’t have to pretend, and the last place on earth he imagined they’d look. He scratched at his ears and sniffed at his steaming cup. It smelled more of spice than of coffee beans, and he wondered if Alex had tricked him into drinking some sort of tea. Whatever it was made from, it tasted really nice, and the spice lingered on his tongue for a long time.

“What’s on your mind big boy? That mixer you came in with the other day?” Alex asked casually, while she was cleaning the coffee machine.

“Nah, work,” he mumbled, and sipped carefully from the hot cup. “Seems to have caught up with me.”

“Yeah, none of us can get away from the machine.”

“You said it, Let me tell you, the machine is just as real for us artists. Money or not, we’re not the happiest bunch in the world.”

“Someone should make a song about it,” She said sarcastically, then slid a plate with a slice of cake on it over to him. Liam wondered if she was being friendly or just waiting for another one of his generous tips. An unfair assumption brought on by the feeling of betrayal he nursed.

“How about you?” He asked, turning to Alex

“What about me?” She said, and continued wiping.

“Uh… I don’t know. What about you?”

“Are you trying to be funny?” She laughed. “Alright, okay, I’m kidding. Nothing exciting in my life, Liam. Just the same old. Work at the café, clean the café, leave the café, sleep and then come back to the café.”

“Oh. Nobody special in your life?”

“Why would you ask that?” Alex finally put down the rag and turned to face him, leaning her elbows on the counter, and her muzzle in her paws. Her round, pink ears were perked and pointing straight at Liam, who suddenly found himself under much more scrutiny than he’d been prepared for.

“I, uh… Just wondered. Just a question.”

“So, that mixer then? Hmm?”

“Ehm,” Liam hesitated. He didn’t want to get into a conversation about Cally behind his back, the issue was still a bit sore. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on, Liam. It’s not like I’m blind or anything. I won’t tell anyone.”

Liam drew a deep breath and folded his ears back. He’d have to admit it to himself, and the first step in accepting it would be to say the word out loud. He couldn’t say it out loud. Not even here. Not even to Alex, who had been cool about everything else. It had just been sex. It didn’t mean anything, even if it had been good sex.

“I… think,” He managed to squeeze out, “Nah, he’s just a friend, Alex. I care about him, you know. And anyways, he has a boyfriend already.”

Alex’ lips drew slowly back into a smile and she clapped her paws together once and brought them up to her muzzle as if in prayer or supplication.

“Oh, my god. The first gay…”

“Not gay, necessarily…” Liam was quick to deflect, but it felt feeble and dishonest.

“The first queer rapper, then?” Alex tried. Liam said nothing, but concentrated on his drink. He wasn’t sure what he’d say to that, because he didn’t know what queer entailed, or didn’t entail. Or if he even was the first. There was a time when Old Liam might have considered it a weak diss at best. But it didn’t make him feel bad, being called that. He’d have to face it sooner or later. He’d had sex with a guy, and it had been good sex. He cared about that guy, and wanted to help him. Then, when the guy had shouted at him and told him to leave, that had hurt enough that he’d resolved to drown his sorrows in drink. There hadn’t been girls in his life who had done that. Weeklong flings, and friends with benefits. The odd girlfriend here and there. Nothing that had any meaning half as powerful as this.

“Yeah, so what?” He rumbled under his breath. “So what? It doesn’t change me. I’m still the same old beat up, washed out artist. Dealing with the same old bullshit from the same old places. And now a whole heap of new bullshit, too.”

“Yeah, you’re right, it doesn’t change you, because it’s who you’ve always been,” Alex said, pouring him another one of those spicy drinks, without prompt. “However, it changes everything around you, Liam. You’re the same old dog you were yesterday, a week ago or a year ago.”

“Not a year ago. I’ve changed a little bit since then.” Liam said, because he wanted it to be true.

“Point is, you’re not different just because you’ve said it. You just know different things now. You have different priorities, perhaps. You have different wishes and desires. It’s like a gift, you can do whatever you want with it. You can ignore it, or celebrate it, I don’t care. But you can’t deny it.”

“I guess. I wouldn’t know how to be one of you guys,”

“Oh, so it’s one of ‘you’ guys, is it?” Alex smiled at him, but Liam quickly realise that wasn’t something one were meant to say.

“Yeah… or is it us guys now?”

“Close, but not quite. We are different, all of us. As different as one straight guy from the next. I’m not gay like you. I’m gay in my own way. I guess I’m different from other gay girls too. But that doesn’t make me, or them, or you any less gay. We’re allied, but we’re not all the same. We can’t be tarred with the same brush. That’s an important distinction to make.”

“You don’t look different to me,” Liam said, sipping at his delicious tea or coffee or whatever it was. “You seem like a nice enough girl. I’m sure if I was a girl, I’d date you. You seem like you’ve got your shit together, that’s all, and I guess that’s a rare thing, even among us guys, er. I mean-”

“Ah, Liam. That means a lot when you say that,” Alex said quickly, interrupting his rambling. “Hope you say nice things like that to that mixer of yours. He looked like he could use a few lectures like that. Where have you hidden him today?”

“He’s eh... He’s dealing with some things, I guess. I can’t really say,” Liam said, splaying his ears guiltily. He felt that must have been something like what Cally’s friends and family had to deal with. Not being able to talk about him. Not knowing enough about him. Not having the opportunity to help him.

Liam excused himself after he’d finished his cup and paid for his drink with another bill which was much too large, before heading into the streets of the cosy gay district.

This place was less frequented in the middle of the day, and even less so during a working day. The streets were almost empty but for the occasional day drinker and tourist. Liam looked through shop windows while strolling down the street, and lost himself in its quiet domesticity. He almost regretted getting his distant penthouse, when he could’ve lived in one of these cozy small second floor apartments. Then he’d have to deal with noisy nights, occasionally, but chances were, he’d be out there. That made him think of Cally, which made him think of Ash, which made him think of his phone and the message from the local number. He pulled it up and read it.

“Hey, whoever gets this message, I don’t know if it’s a joke or whatever but tell me your name. I was given this number from someone, and I didn’t check if it was real or not. Please save me some embarrassment and let me know.”

Liam smirked, and texted back. “It’s Liam, what’s up.”

The casual tone was so delightful to employ, so deliberately blasé. He enjoyed the feeling he got when he could message back and forth, or talk to, completely normal people. He’d not met this many regular guys in this short a time, and the potential for new friends, proper friends who were real and honest, was even greater than he’d been prepared to explore. And yet he kept thinking about Cally. Cally who lied, Cally who hid from his family and friends. Cally who had lots of secrets nobody was allowed to know. God, the boy was all over his mind and being expressly forbidden from talking to him was agonizing.

His phone buzzed with another message. “Oh, man, please tell me you’re THE Liam. (THE Liam would probably know)”

He texted back as quick as he could type, his tail wagging. He’d just had coffee but he could have a lunch perhaps. It’d be cool, surely.

“It’s THE Liam, yes. Are you THE Ash?”

The messages came quick now.

“OMG”

“No Way”

“Sorry, sorry, I mean. Yeah, it’s Ash, from the club. I’ve got so many questions. Can we meet. Like for real?”

“Sorry if it’s presumptuous.”

“I mean, sorry if I’m being too forward.”

Liam had to stop the flow before his phone ran out of space. He quickly typed a few words while the apologies kept coming in.

“Lunch. Pick a place and send the address. We good.”

That made the messages stop for a while. Liam breathed out and snickered. Once he stopped to think about it, fans were just people, getting way in over their head about one person in particular. It was like him with Cally, he realised. He might be said to be a fan of his dancing. He realised, guiltily, that he’d been a terrible fan, if that was the case. Stalking, patronising and groupie’ing, then expecting something more? If he’d been Cally, he’d not have stood for it one bit.

There came a ping from his phone, and it was Ash’s number. He’d given him an address, which Liam didn’t recognize, but from the place name, he knew it wasn’t far away. He could walk it, if he had to, but instead he hopped into a nearby cab. No time to waste.

While he was riding along, he noticed an unknown number call him. He recalled that he’d not saved Ash’s number in his phone, so he assumed it was the same number he’d been texting back and forth with the last fifteen minutes. He was sorely mistaken.

“Liam, don’t hang up on me again, listen!” Cee came through from the other end, much clearer now, but he still panted as if he’d run a marathon. Liam was panting himself, but that was just because of the oppressive heat in Sydney that day.

“I’m not doing any concerts, Cee. I told you”

“Why?” He moaned, going through the pitches until the phone speaker crackled. “Liam, I’ve got concert bookers breathing down my neck here.”

“I’ve made the arrangements; they’ll get their money back. Didn’t you get the message from my lawyer?”

“Yeah, yeah, money shmoney. They’re getting personal. Now that they know you’re in Australia, they are talking about untapped markets. They want concerts in the big cities. A proper one, a goodbye concert.”

“So they got the memo, at least,” Liam grumbled. He wanted to hang up on the dog, but he couldn’t keep blocking numbers for ever. “Cee, I don’t want to play any god damn concerts. I’m through with this. It’s over.”

“It’s not over, Liam. You owe it to your fans. Listen. One concert, and it’s done. That’s as good as I can do. I’m not giving up until I get a yes from you.”

“No.” Liam said succinctly, but Cee broke in.

“If I don’t hear a yes, we’ll get the lawyers involved. I don’t want to do this, Liam. But we could get into a long and dirty fight about this contract, and the label has the money to make it unpleasant for you. Mike knows that it could go either way. Point is, you don’t want that kind of load on your shoulders, do you. I told him to let me talk to you, and we could work something out.”

“Mike? That quisling,” Liam growled, but if there was one thing he wanted less than to face his fans, it was to face a bunch of lawyers who would happily drive their knives through his golden gullet to see if he was gold on the inside as well. Liam couldn’t survive a lawsuit like one Cee threatened. His image couldn’t. And his dreams of a quiet retirement couldn’t. They’d go through everything. His house, his phone, the places he hung around. They’d get journalists to poke around, and it was just a question of time before the revelations would come in. Witness reports. People having seen him in the gay clubs. People recalling his tattoos and face now that it was back to being all over the media. Perhaps Ash, or even Cally, would be tempted to reveal some secrets for a few grand to some pap rag.

“Look… Let’s just talk about this,” He pleaded. Cee was panting on the other end for a few moments before the reply came.

“Okay, Liam. Let’s talk. Where are you staying?”

“Staying?”

“Yeah, what fucking address should I come to, you fucking clown .” Cee crackled through his speaker in a suspiciously clear tone for someone calling across the pacific. Liam took the phone from his ears and studied the number again, suspicion turning into realisation as he read it back to himself. No country code. Cee was calling from an Australian number.

“I, eh. Can we meet somewhere public?” Liam asked. He didn’t want to reveal his address, although it was futile. He would be found out soon enough if Cee wanted to. And if he went and did the concert… He might never be left alone again.

“What, so I can’t fucking kill you?” Cee laughed. “Baby, if I wanted you dead, I’d have squeezed you dry years ago. There’s a restaurant at Park Hotel Sydney. It’s decent enough, and close to where I’m staying. You’ll be there tonight at six. Or you will be living under a bridge, turning tricks for nickels, and consider yourself lucky that we’ll never meet again. Okay?”

The warmest part of that last comment had been the click when he hung up. The cab driver, a tall weasel with beady, dark eyes, met his crestfallen gaze in the rear view mirror.

“Your boss sounds like a piece of work, mate,” He said.

“He’s not my boss, he’s a cunt.”

“Hey,” The weasel laughed. “getting influenced by aussie culture, now?”

Liam allowed himself a smile.

The cab pulled up outside a neat, glass fronted, modern building with Japanese characters next to the name. It was a lunch restaurant, but clearly not of the cheap and easy variety. Inside, Liam saw a crowd of people, talking in hushed, subdued voices. And there, was a table for two with one spot taken already. Liam stepped inside, and immediately the atmosphere enticed him to drop to a quiet whisper, to tread lightly on the red-carpet floor, and to avoid his clothes rustling or his little gold chain so much as jangling too loudly. It was one of those overly polite places, where he’d rather escape in a hurry than make a single social mistake. An oppressive atmosphere, but the scents in here were amazing, and he was quietly – very quietly — thankful that Ash had suggested this place. When Ash caught sight of him, he waved, and opened his mouth, but didn’t vocalize any sounds. Liam had barely gotten seated when a waiter, a clean cropped Shiba Inu, asked if he was prepared to order. Having refrained from sushi all his life, and since he was a different dog now, he had some of that. It was expensive, for someone who didn’t make fifty-five thousand a week for the last three years, and was currently pulling in almost a hundred thousand a week during this whole drama. Sixteen pieces should be enough for a light lunch.

“Well, here we are,” Liam said, as the waiter took their menus away. Ash nodded, still wide eyed. There was an awkward silence while the waiter came by with their drinks, a coke for ash, and an overpriced foreign beer for Liam.

“It’s kinda surreal, really,” Ash said. “I used to listen to your stuff all through high school.”

“Appreciate it, seems a lot of you g- I mean it seems a lot of kids who are gay liked my songs. Uh, why do you think that is?”

“Oh, I’ve never thought about it. Your lyrics just spoke to that frustration and confusion that I suppose most gay guys go through as they come out of the closet.”

“You’re saying my songs appeal specifically to gay people?”

“Not particularly... but I read the lyrics back to myself every now and then, and sometimes I just think ‘there goes a guy who has something deeply important he wants to share, but can’t’. I’d almost say it was intentional, if I didn’t know better... well... I do know better.”

“It wasn’t intentional,” Liam said, scratching his ears, and brushing the fur around his neck down. “I honestly just wrote stuff that I thought would appeal to kids. Stuff I thought I should’ve felt back when I was young, but I didn’t.”

“Maybe you suppressed it,” Ash said, but Liam wasn’t here to be psychoanalysed. He felt he’d given the mouse enough of an eyeful of himself, and decided to get down to business. “Anyways, I’m not here to talk lyrics or music with you Ash, can I call you that? I want you to understand better where I come from, and perhaps you can help me out a bit, too. Here’s the thing, right...”

Ash nodded and sipped his soda, an expression of intense focus across his face and his ears cupped.

“I’m retired, okay?” Liam sighed, hoping it was still the truth. “I’ve retired and I’ve come here because it was far away from all the bullshit I had to deal with, right. The industry. The crazy fans, the... no offense, man, The interviews, the attention, the constant scrutiny. It wore me down.”

“Like in your songs, right?” Ash ventured.

“Very much like that. And when I came over here, I ran into Cally on the flight. He was cool, because he knew who I was but he didn’t care. Do you know how rare those people are? Well, they’re rare, let me tell you. We hung out a little, and long story short, that’s how I ended up in your changing room that night.”

“Long story short?” Ash said, before flicking his ears back. “I thought you came here to talk about this. I’d like the long story long, for now.”

“No, that’s fair, there’s more to it,” Liam said, taking a deep swig of his beer before continuing. “Cally got to me.”

“He got to you?”

“Yeah.” Liam said, as he had no other ways of describing the very raw and intense emotions he experienced whenever he thought of the boy. “After I landed, I gave him my address, and told him to hook up. When he did, I took him out for a coffee, and we talked for a while. Then I took him with me when I bought an apartment, and-“

“What, you just bought an apartment?”

“If you could let me finish,” Liam flicked his ears, annoyed at the assumption that he’d make such a large move after meeting Cally on a flight and having a coffee. To think he’d pick an apartment, just because Cally liked it. He hoped Ash didn’t think that of him. “I moved here, and I was going to look for apartments that day, anyways. And I had just picked him up from that house he lives in with his dad, I think. Well, I thought he might like to see, you know”

“Yeah, sorry man, go on.”

“Anyways. I knew he was a stripper, so I thought it’d be fun to see what kind of stuff he danced. So I found that gay district and looked around. Figured it couldn’t hurt.”

He looked around casually, to make sure nobody had their ears cupped towards them, then lent in a little more and whispered.

“So I also ran into like, his siblings. That’s a different story, but trust me when I say it was all completely random. So I meet both his siblings, and they both give me like these snippets of who Cally is. And I’m not sure how it happened, but I guess I saw something in him. Maybe I saw myself? I don’t know. Well, I guess I got a bit obsessed.”

“Obsessed? So it’s true?” Ash asked. “He talked a little about some guy who kept texting him. But I never thought much of it, since he said you told him you were straight.”

“Let’s leave it at a maybe, for now.”

“Well, you did fuck him,” Ash said under his breath, but Liam knew just from the movement of his lips and the slight raising of his eyebrow.

“That’s not-“

“No, you’re right, I guess,” Ash said, “We get all kinds into the club. People who are just experimenting, people who aren’t sure about it, people who are really insistent, but insist that it doesn’t count because we’re... well... we’re prostitutes, so there’s no feeling in it. And then there are those who... well... take it a bit too seriously.”

“I honestly didn’t mean for the night to end that way,” Liam said, ears splayed. “I’m not like those guys. I wasn’t there for the sex, or anything like that. I wanted to see him dance, that’s all.”

“But you did have sex. That’s not really the issue, though. That’s out job. Your job is to not get attached.”

“I’m not... well, what if I got attached before I knew what he did for a job?”

“Then I’m sorry.”

Liam couldn’t help but look down into the tablecloth, studying the wet prints which the condensation on his glass had left. Of course, you couldn’t love a prostitute, if that was really what he’d felt he was doing. Of course, you couldn’t grow attached. That was just not how it was done. Even the industry had taught him that. Liam sighed and tried to find the right words that he wouldn’t sound as pathetic as he felt.

“But if I could just talk to him. I could help him into better life, where he wouldn’t have to-“

“I’m sure he knows that,” Ash said simply. The silence went on.

Their food arrived not long after, and Liam stared down at his plate. Ash sat, politely waiting for him to eat, while studying his own food. Hesitatingly, Liam got to grips with his chopsticks, and started eating. The sensation of taste, the variety of complex and exquisite flavours, and the amazing aroma were all lost on him. He wasn’t focused, and before he knew it, he’d eaten it all.

Ash continued talking only after they both had finished the meal. “Alright, I guess you deserve some answers, at least. Maybe it’ll make it easier for ya.”

He swallowed a gulp of soda from his glass, and set his chopsticks down next to his plate.

“Cally changed after he came back. Came in one day and asked for work, and well, we all knew him, so that was not an issue. But he rarely talks to me anymore. He dances and entertains guests, and then showers and leaves with us, like he always did... but I don’t know, I’m not seeing the same... I dunno. Drive? Joy? I can’t really put a finger on it.”

“How so?”

“We used to be best friends. Kept chatting online while he was away. Kept in contact. I told him about the club and our colleagues, and whatever. He’d tell me about that boyfriend of his and- Oh damn.” Ash flicked his ears, and started brushing his whiskers again, nervously looking around. “I didn’t say that. Don’t tell him I said that. I swore I wouldn’t-”

“Boyfriend-“

“Shush, please!” Ash said and folded his ears down. “I’m not supposed to talk about him. I’m sorry, please don’t ask me.”

“Hold up a second, I know, he told me something about him having someone. I know that. It’s not some big secret or anything, I’m not going to try and steal Cally-“

“No, I don’t think you should,” Ash said, and looked away. “Talk about it, I mean. Liam, I’m sorry, You can’t have Cally, and you can’t ask about that boy. Ever. If you... well... if you really did love him, you’d not get involved. All I know is that some bad shit went down, and Cally got very hurt. That’s all.”

“b-but...” Liam said, stumbling and hesitating. He wasn’t any less confused. His emotions didn’t make sense, Cally didn’t make sense. Ash was not making sense

“What did he do in the states, anyways? What happened that made him come home.”

“I don’t know,” Ash said. “I know what he told me, but I also saw if for the cover story it was. Some things are best left out of texts, so whatever it was, it was bad. I never did get a proper answer, and well. I’ll respect that, Liam.”

“It has something to do with his boyfriend, doesn’t it?” Liam asked. “Something bad happened there, and for some reason or other, Cally had to leave.”

Ash frowned. He stared at Liam with as much defiance as he could muster.

“Liam Connor, please don’t ask more about him. Cally is an independent spirit, and my best friend. He knows I’m here, and agreed for me to talk to you. Take that for a huge blessing, if indeed he is important to you. He’ll contact you if he feels like it.” Ash let that hang for a while, so that Liam could feel the weight of his words. “But you kinda disappoint me, Liam. I thought you were going to explain yourself. Maybe talk a little about what bothered you? I accepted because I figured you might be misunderstood. I was sure, seeing you that night, that you would have questions about us, about the club or about gays. Cally isn’t one to answer anyone’s questions, and if he does, he’ll never let you know everything. But you have the right to know, if there are things you don’t know about yourself. You have the right to know if you’re doing something right, or wrong. You have the right to know if there are things you can’t have. And you can’t have Cally.”

The coldness in his voice had come from somewhere deep inside. Liam was confused and frustrated still.

“He’s called Joel, isn’t he?” Liam tried, and the name made Ash’s ears flick, but the coldness in the mouse’s expression lingered, and he brushed down his whiskers again in a jerky, uncertain motion. “He’s called Joel, and for some reason Cally is very upset about him. I want to help. I promise. If there’s anything I can do, I’ll do it. I just fear Cally might distance himself from me for personal reasons, when I’ve got the best shot at helping him.”

“He’s called Joel,” Ash looked around again. “Okay listen. I’m going to go out on a limb and trust that you won’t use him for your own gains, because if you do, so help me God... I will destroy you.” Ash’s voice was intense, but so very honest. “This stays between us.”

Liam nodded, holding his breath.

“Cally went to the US for love. He’d met a guy online, and they were getting serious. I’d seen pictures of him, sure. Cally would sometimes call him, too. He worked the poles to save up for that trip, secretly, of course. He only told me. When he up and left, he had to do it at 4 in the morning, having packed the night before, so that his father wouldn’t know before the plane had taken off. I helped him aboard that plane and waved him off. Then, after a year or so, Cally suddenly went quiet in our chats. We’d been talking every day, sometimes a few lines, sometimes for hours, but it was definitely a routine at this point. I suspect something about it changed, and meant Cally had to disappear. He was gone for months; I don’t know where. When he got back to me, he told me they’d been moving around and that he’d not had internet. I mean, he always had a phone around, usually, but for some reason, that was the excuse he went with. No explanation, but again, I don’t expect one from him. I guess I knew, back then, that there was a lot Cally wanted to say, but couldn’t. Then a few days later, dead silence. And I mean completely. No response from his phone, no updates from anyone. I didn’t have any contact with his siblings, but I knew they didn’t know, because I saw that they posted missing-posters on ex-pat social media groups. So there we were. In the black. For. Years. I think police got involved, but I never heard any of that. I think Cally’s dad was in jail until they realised that he’d not had anything to do with it, and after that, I guess they just chalked it down as missing. This was three and a half years ago, just about now. Then, half a year ago, he reappears. He calls me, for the first time in forever, and tells me that he’s ready to come home. It’s a super short call and it sounds like he’s trying to hide from somebody. Whispers, keeps pausing, breathes heavily. I don’t know what to make of it, but I start counting down the days. I hear from him again, a few weeks later. He tells me he’s going to be away for a little while longer, but that he’s got a plane ticket. I never got a response from any text I sent him, so I figured he had to keep hidden still. I noticed that his number had changed from the one he’d had initially, so who knows, right? I think he might have been on the run from somebody. Like full on, you know. Maybe he got split up with Joel.”

“But why is he so worried that people will find out that Joel is his boyfriend? I don’t get it.” Liam couldn’t think of any other questions right about then.

“I don’t know,” Ash said, and splayed his ears. “His dad isn’t the nicest guy, I guess. They live in kind of a small house. And, I don’t know Liam. There’s a lot that probably happened that makes sense to him, and not us. I’m only telling you this because I hope you can help him in some way I haven’t already tried. If you wanna help with anything, help him provide for his family better, help him in some ways with money. Just don’t get involved with his relationship with Joel. He would never forgive you, and then he’d blame me.”

“I’ll remember that,” Liam said, nodding. His tail threatened to wag. If there was one thing he could do, it was just that. He had money.

“And whatever you do, Liam,” Ash continued. “Don’t seek him out when he’s told you he needs time. He’s not playing hard to get. He literally needs time. Just trust me on this, stay away from him for now, and when he’s ready, then he’ll probably talk.”

“I guess...” Liam said slowly. “Why do you think he... why didn’t he stop me, when... Okay, so I don’t know what he’s told you, but for the last few nights I’ve been coming in with a disguise. That last night, I didn’t and well... You could see how that ended. He said I was stalking, and I guess you could probably say that. Why did he still-“

“Why did he fuck you, you mean?” Ash asked, bolder now. “Do you think you’re his first stalker? It’s a part of the job. I’ve got a few already myself, and I’m not really as good as he is, to be honest.”

“Jesus Christ,” Liam exclaimed, “Why don’t you go to the police or something?”

Ash laughed, a hollow, empty laugh that only just broke beyond a chortle. “Yeah...”

“Well?”

“Fucking you is his job. It might have been nice for you. Perhaps even for him, then and there, but it means nothing.”

“I’m pretty sure this was different,” Liam said, scratching his muzzle. “He asked to fuck me, I had been saying no for the last week. I was perfectly happy just watching him dance.”

“Well, consider it a favour to yourself,” Ash said. “Honestly. The easiest way to get out of a tough situation where you’re cornered, or if you suspect someone is obsessing about you, is to just fuck them there, and then fuck off. They’re less likely to jump us in the street afterwards. And at least the club has security and cameras. I guess he must have felt that was the safest option.”

“He said he liked-” Liam stopped himself. All this talk of Cally had taken away his connection with reality. He was, after all, talking about a prostitute. A prostitute with a lot of baggage, sure, but a prostitute none the less. Why was he so surprised that he’d been lied to now?

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way, Liam. Cally’s a nice guy. But he’s not boyfriend material. Not for you.”

“I can’t believe it, I’ve been a fucking idiot.” Liam groaned and drunk his beer, slamming the glass down heavily on the table, making other dinner guests turn towards them.

“Please, don’t be hard on yourself. You’re not the first, you won’t be the last. At least you know this stuff a little better than the poor kids who spends their first time with us, okay?”

“Yeah, but Jesus. After a hundred times, you’d think...”

“Hey, it’s different alright. This was your first time with a guy. You convince yourself it’s different in so many ways already. Guys have always been your friends, you know guys. You don’t, though. You don’t know Cally.”

“I guess, but I mean... it was so much wilder than anything I’ve ever had before.”

“Liam, if this was my first time having this talk with someone who had their first time in that club, then I might be flattered on Cally’s behalf. But I think you know what that means. It has probably nothing to do with him, and everything to do with you.”

“Y-yeah.” Liam said. “Do you know why I initially wanted to talk to you one on one?”

“Shoot,” Ash said, emptying the last of his soda and wiping his muzzle with a napkin.

“I wanted to convince you that I wasn’t gay, that this meeting with Cally didn’t mean anything, and well. All that went into the toilet. But I need to tell you one thing, and I need you to swear by it.”

“I already know what you mean,” Ash said. “My lips are sealed.”

“And are you going to tell Cally about this meeting?”

“I don’t see why not,” Ash said. “I’ll put in a good word for you. As a friend. Okay?”

“Tell him I... eh... tell him I care about him and want to help.”

“I can do that big boy. And I’ll make sure he doesn’t blacklist you from the club. There’s other guys who would be interested to meet you.” Ash wiped his whiskers down again, and looked around, before dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Is it true? Nine and a half?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, did he tell you that too? I thought for a moment he’d be a little secretive.”

“At work, we talk shop,” Ash smirked and licked his lips suggestively. “I don’t suppose you’d select my name the next time you visit. Once I get you back on Cally’s good side.”

“Ash, for crying out loud.” Liam folded his ears down, but the mouse only smiled. “So you’re in it for the sex, then?”

“Among other things,” Ash said. “It’s hard to leave. We’re a tight knit group, and well... clients aside, most of us are there for a reason. I’m not one for dating or romance, so there you have me.” Ash smiled. “Yeah I’m a stereotype. Some of us came for the money, some came to dance and be admired, some came because they had nowhere else to go. I came because I knew I could score.”

“You’re awful,” Liam said, and found a smile which he put on for the mouse. “I admire your honesty.”

“Press my icon the next time, and I’ll show you what an honest mouse I am. I promise you Cally won’t mind. He’d probably look. We all do, from time to time.”

Liam felt himself flush slightly. That was a step too far into the obscene, even for him. The risk that someone had seen him in that club had been acceptable. The risk that some of the dancers might have caught a glimpse of him backstage, and now wanted some for themselves, was a scarier thought.

“I have to get going, Ash,” Liam sighed, as he checked his watch. “You’ve given me a few things to think about.”

“More than a few, surely?”

“Enough,” Liam said simply. “I promise I’ll leave Cally alone until he asks me to see him again. Send him my care.” Liam slid out of his chair, and stuck a paw out. Ash accepted it, and nodded politely.

“And I appreciate you paying for my lunch, Liam. It’s good to know that the old saying ‘never meet your heroes’ isn’t always true. I work weekends and Tuesday to Thursday. Opening til’ closing. If you ever feel lonely, stop by.”

“Take care now, Ash,” Liam said with a smile, as he put a few hundreds on the table, and took his leave. It was easy to smile to him. There wasn’t anything particularly appealing to him about the mouse’s body, but he was honest and up front. Even if some of that honesty might be difficult to hear, or more than Liam bargained for. Though it was a shame that was that Cally had such an amazing body, and didn’t want to see him, it was as much a shame that Ash did, but didn’t appeal to him. Liam still hadn’t decided if he liked men. Did he like them more than women? Did he even like women at all? Perhaps it was just that caramel mixer with those cute big ears, and that spritely, bouncy attitude who had a special place in his heart.

Cute big ears and a sprightly, bouncy nature was the exact opposite of Cee, so before his meeting, Liam decided to warm up in the hotel bar which he’d come to know over the last few weeks. He wondered if Cee had selected this hotel because it was featured in the first brochure one would encounter after coming off the plane, as indeed Liam did. He couldn’t have known Liam had been staying here. Even Mike would struggle to get that kind of access.

The bar greeted him much as he’d left it, and he felt his tail stir when he saw who was working there. Cindy was right in the middle of wiping off the counter, but she stopped when she caught sight of Liam, strolling through the glass partitions which separated the lobby and bar area.

“Liam, a pleasure to see you again,” She said, and smiled a non-service worker smile. Apparently, it was.

Liam could tell from her reflection that her tail was wagging.

“And you, Cindy,” Liam said, and slapped another bill down on the counter. He’d still not bothered accepting change for any of his hundred-dollar bills apparently, they weren’t worth a hundred American ones, and he’d spent those liberally enough. “One Caramel lady, and a story about your day, if you would. There’s too much fuck-up in mine.”

She started pouring him a drink, while she spoke. “Oh, I’m sure there’s nothing to tell about my day. Just the same old. Get the bus downtown, grab a coffee and then, I spend a good chunk of my day talking to printer salesmen, and bankers and tourists.”

“Sounds better than what I’ve got going,” Liam said, and lapped casually at the drink. It was sweet, with a hint of spice to it. “Spices?” He asked.

“Well, seeing as it’s based on yours truly and all,” She smiled. “I add a bit of chilli. Just enough to move your blood around a little.”

“Are you particularly spicy, then?” Liam asked, smiling. He felt at liberty to say things that would otherwise be considered flirting. Because he had no interest in flirting with her. He said the things he’d say to Cally, if he could, if there had been no dramas or pain. If Cally was single.

“I’m sweet to those who I like, and spicy to everyone else. What does the drink taste most of to you?”

“Well...”

She laughed, “you don’t have to answer that, it’s just this dumb saying I use sometimes.”

Liam necked the rest of the drink. He wanted to be as far away as he could until six, when Cee was destined to drag him back to reality.

“Nah, it’s not, I mean. Is it true?” Liam asked. “Because if it is, then it’s not dumb, is it?”

“I can get my claws out if I have to.”

Liam snickered. “Ever been in any fights?”

“One or two,” she said, as nonchalantly as she could manage while her tail went limp. She might have thought Liam didn’t notice, but he could see her reflection, and furthermore, he’d met enough fans to know what ‘forcing’ your ears to remain perked looked like.

“Sorry,” Liam said, and sipped his drink. She looked out into the lobby for a moment, then around the bar, but they were alone. Nobody else drank before five.

“Dad, mostly.”

“Huh?” Liam pretended as if he’d not heard, so that he could mask his reaction. He wished he’d been more shocked, but after hearing so much else about Cally, he wasn’t.

“You don’t want to know, I’m sorry, Liam. Here’s a drink on the house.” She began to pour another drink, but Liam slapped another note on the counter, and pushed it over to her insistently.

“Take it,” He said. “If you want to talk, you can talk freely. If you don’t want to talk, you don’t have to.”

He curled his lips in what he hoped looked like sympathy.

“Yeah. I don’t want to talk,” Cindy sighed. “But I think maybe I need to, you know?”

“Perhaps you could see someone?” Liam ventured. “I mean, if you don’t have anyone else, I could stick around after your shift. I mean. Just for coffee or something, nothing like that.”

“Coffee?” she asked, incredulous. “Are you in the habit of asking all your fans out to coffee?”

Liam bit back almost a hundred different, crude pick-up lines. And he definitely didn’t want to mention her brother, even if it would’ve been high praise in his eyes. Instead, he shrugged, and said. “I don’t mind. If you’re game. My treat, of course.”

“You know what, Liam,” She said, “I am game. I finish up at eight today. I could take some time out, I guess. I think my brothers are picking up the groceries today, so it’ll be fine.”

“Great, I’ll meet you in the lobby then, right?”

“Sure, I might be a bit over, but we should have plenty of time before my buss leaves.”

Liam brushed his paw aside, and smirked. “Oh, don’t worry about that, I’ll put you in a cab, since I’m already taking your time.”

Cindy smiled and flicked her ears while pouring him a third drink, at which point the alcohol slowly started to enter his system and his tongue loosened. Was this considered stalking too? Or did it only become stalking when he turned the conversation to Cally?

“How are things going with your brothers, then?” He asked, even though he’d told himself he’d stop doing that. But the allure of knowing that she might hold some secret that would unlock Cally to him was too strong to resist.

“Oh, they’re doing their things, I guess,” She said. “Why, been visiting some furniture shops lately?”

“I, uh,” Liam froze. But then he caught himself before his voice could betray him. Thinking back to Ced, it’d be silly to think he’d keep a secret like that from someone like his sister. Even if Liam wasn’t entirely sure how close they were, they were both fans of him. Liam could only assume from stories, as he’d never had any siblings, but apparently something like a shared taste in music could bring siblings close together.

“I promise you, that was completely random, a simple coincidence.”

“Why would you assume I’d think it was anything but?” She cocked her head almost imperceptibly.

“I didn’t say that,” Liam said, suddenly. He splayed his paws and looked into Cindy’s eyes, but there was a glint of mischief in them.

“I’m joking with ya, mate,” She said, “If I saw another white bull terrier, I’d do a double take too. He told me, you know. Or rather, I got it out of him.” She laughed. “My brother can do many things, but he just can’t keep a secret. Hope you didn’t tell him anything private. Because tomorrow, I’ll find out about it, I’m sure.”

“Oh, damn,” Liam said and smiled sheepishly in what he hoped was disarming. Inside, he desperately tried to recall what he had revealed, and what he’d asked when he’d spoken to Ced. They had talked about Cally, he was sure of that. Maybe it was probably best to come clean with what he knew, before she found out for herself, and got any ideas.

Cindy talked for a while about her little brother. Far more than what she could tell about Cally, but Liam had been prepared for that. He forced himself not to dig around too much.

Before long, the clock ticked over to 6PM, and Liam started to feel like he ought to remember something. Which he did, just as he saw a black panther in a clean, black suit, so dark against his fur that it disappeared, were it not for a white collar, a tie and cuffs. He looked almost naked. But he was no stripper, because Liam didn’t have an ounce of respect for him. He considered hiding out in the bar, but unfortunately, Cee knew him enough to know where to look.

He knocked back the last of his drink, and headed into the lobby, where Cee was looking around casually, waiting for his turn at the counter which was currently occupied with an older pair of antlered deer in light business suits. First, his small, round ears flicked towards Liam, then his tail lashed twice. Cee turned to face him.

“Liam,” he grumbled and flattened his ears, but he strode over and grasped Liam by the paw. Hard. “For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. And we began to be merry.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “I hope you’ve got room for dinner.”

Liam didn’t have room for dinner, but that didn’t seem like the right response.

“Let’s just get this over with.” He deliberately picked a table before they could be seated, as he was familiar to the staff, and as a petty exercise of power over the environment. He didn’t know what this gesture served, other than convince himself that he was at home here. If he had a home in this place, he couldn’t be taken away, surely. The thought was as unreasoned as it was childish and lame. But just then, he didn’t feel like he had much else to cling to.

“Let’s get this straight,” Cee said, after the waiter had come and gone without leaving any of them any drinks. “You still work for me, Liam.”

Liam speared an imaginary contract under his index finger. “I told you, anyone whose owed money, Mike would take care of. All I wanted was to be left alone.”

“What on earth makes you think I’d be okay with that,” Cee said, throwing his arms in exasperation. “You didn’t even talk, man. If you had any issues, you should’ve come to me.”

In the past, coming to Cee with a problem would result in the problem going away just enough that it would seem that Cee had his interests in mind. Come to Cee with a cocaine problem, and you’d not get rid of it, but you’d get a steady supply without having to score for yourself. It was one of many reasons Liam had thought it best not to mention it.

“Now we’re in an embarrassing position, you and I,” Cee said. “I’ve promised things to people whose promises one doesn’t break, and those promises hinges on you doing as you’re told. As per your contract. Ya’ feel me?”

“I’m guessing refusing isn’t an alternative.”

“It’s very much not,” Cee growled. “I want you to say yes to four venues. Eight nights in total. Don’t even ask about money. After this stunt, be lucky I don’t send you the bill.”

“I happen to know that my so-called stunt sent my record sales into the stratosphere,” Liam countered, but it was a lame argument which didn’t go anywhere. So he took it somewhere else. “I don’t want to do concerts here. I don’t want the attention. Fuck, if you keep pushing that shit, I’ll just fuck off somewhere else.”

“You won’t because we’ll bleed you dry.”

“That’s going to take some time, and even then, don’t forget... I can get shit done. I don’t need money.” Liam said it mostly so that he could hear it for himself.

“Don’t need money,” Cee scoffed, clearly not buying the threat, but his ears flicked uneasily all the same. “You need everything you can get. New apartment, sure. Now what? I know what sort of a lifestyle you lead, Liam. The drinking? I know what kind of things you do with your spare time, too. Oh, I’ve been finding out a lot about you, in preparation for this meeting. You do need those money if you plan keep visiting those clubs.”

“What clubs?” Liam growled, but a chill went down his spine.

“Do you honestly want me to say it?” Cee asked, showing off far more teeth than was necessary to get Liam to back down and tuck his tail.

“For fucks sake, Liam?” Cee asked in a low whisper. “I mean, getting tail is understandable. But those places? You’ve been seen, don’t think you haven’t. And I’ve been keeping a lid on it for YOU, Liam. So cut the crap. I’ve been working for you while you’ve been getting your pole danced on, and you think I don’t have your best interests at heart? If you ever want to be left alone, as you say, you can’t go around like that. When we’re done here, you’d have better get your act together. You’ve got an image to maintain.”

“I don’t care about my image anymore, Cee,” Liam said, slightly surprised that Cee hadn’t commented further on his preferences. For once, he was grateful that the panther was all business. That gratitude didn’t last long.

Cee tapped his index finger on the tablecloth with a dull tap. The claws, which had come out while he spoke, hooked the fine fabric and stuck to it, but Cee didn’t seem to notice as he went on. “You can’t fuck these boys and be seen. We haven’t worked that angle. You can’t be anything other than Ell. Your fans expect that of you,”

Liam was reminded again why he despised most of his fans, and why he despised Cee. Or at least, he used to despise his fans. Then he learned who they were.

“I just want to be fucking left alone. I don’t care about my image anymore.”

“You need that image,” Cee continued, “if you want to fill those concerts, and you will want to fill those concerts, because I’ve promised certain numbers, based on surveys which only consider that you’re Elaborate, famous playboy rapper. Not some fucking-”

“And if I just went and told people, despite your surveys and deals? What’d you do then? If all those concerts flopped. I’d have my money, anyway. I can take that hit, and I’ll recover. Can you?”

“Honestly?” Cee asked, some of his fury subsiding. “Liam, Christ’s sake, why are you being so difficult?”

“I don’t think I am,” Liam said obstinately, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair. “I’ll do a lot of crazy shit before I’ll do these concerts, I need you to understand that.”

A range of expressions crossed Cee’s face, before he settled for a lowered brow and an intense glare.

“You want to get out of these concerts?” He asked. “I don’t want you playing concerts if you’re going to act like a petulant child. I have enough work as it is, don’t need the scandal of a century heaped onto it all. Listen. I’ll cut you a deal.”

“I’m all ears.”

Cee drew a short breath, checked his phone, then looked back to Liam and said, “Get me an album.”

“An album?”

“An album. Your last one, then I’ll let you retire. And it must be bomb. New and the same, all at once. All new material, concise themes, common thread, all that shit we did together back in the good ol’ days. I want it one year from the last one. If you’re not in the top ten on the Christmas charts this year... You’ll be on the next plane back home to defend yourself in a suit.”

“One year?” Liam exclaimed, “You want quality, or you want one year?”

“I want both, and I want you to write your fucking heart out, as if your life depended on it. For now, let’s just say that it does. If I can promise my people an end to this chapter; a last album, then we’re good. But if I don’t get an album in another year... We’ll sue your fucking balls off, don’t you doubt it.”

Liam considered his last album. It had been a year in the making even before he had a single beat ready, then production and processing took another few months. Even then, it had felt like a lot of work, because Liam had struggled to make everything work together. The art was still important for him, even if the intricacies of it flew over the industry’s heads. Making an album in a year, which had the same impact as his double platinum Grammy award winning last album, would be a tall order. But next to the allure of playing concerts, thereby reminding everyone in Australia that he was here, and ruining his chances of a quiet fade into obscurity, this was the better option. He could hide in his apartment, and bunker down in Alex’s coffee shop, and take life at the pace he wanted, and write as much and as good as he could. No hype interviews. No need to ensure his name was on everyone’s lips. No awkward collaborations with visionless players and dime a dozen backing vocalists. And this time, he might write something that was actually real to him, as well as his fans.

“I’ll get you an album.” Liam said with trepidation. At least he’d get to make music, he thought. It didn’t sound like they’d stick their noses in his process, either. And he liked music, he told himself. He still liked the process of making it. He wanted this. He should want this. He’d always lived for the music. It was like being back at square one, with the world against him, and only music to lift him up and out. But when he took Cee’s paw and shook it, it was not his art which concerned him. His art could do many things, but it couldn’t help a mixer dog with his family troubles, or boyfriend, or whatever it was that bothered him. Liam’s art couldn’t buy back the soul Cally had already sold.

He didn’t want to remain in the restaurant to try the food, and he didn’t particularly wish to enjoy the company of his manager. All he had to do was to waste two hours or so until Cindy’s shift ended. So, he put an address into his GPS which he’d been searching for earlier that day, towards an appointment he’d been holding off for a while. But at least now, he knew Cally wouldn’t come along with him and pick one out, so he decided he had to do it by himself. He stepped out and headed towards the outskirts of the downtown area on foot.

The dealership specialised in exotic cars, but for once in his life, Liam didn’t want anything flashy. He walked straight to the back of the dealership where the used cars were on offer. Used cars were something normal, everyday people drove, it was normal. But parts of his old life still didn’t leave him just because he wanted to. The same parts which made him drink too much, and tip far too much, and express himself in outwardly without much restraint, also made choices for him in other places.

“Do you require any help, sir?”

The voice was soft, mild and subdued. No trace of an accent, even here. It was quiet as if it was said across a table for two, and with roughly the same sweetness. Liam turned to meet the eyes of a very small but extremely sharply suited kangaroo rat. His shirt and jacket were cut close to his lithe frame, but his thigh muscles bulged underneath his modest slacks. He gestured towards the front of the dealership and spoke softly.

“Might I suggest the Lamborghini?” He proposed. “It’s a convertible, which is perfect for the mild winter we’re having this year.”

“No thanks,” Liam said, then hurried to add. “Not the Lambo, I mean, I want something less... Something normal, but a little bit different.”

The kangaroo rat scratched his muzzle and looked genuinely contemplative. “Might you care to explain a little bit better, so that I could help you?”

Liam wasn’t sure what he wanted, so he hesitated a little, before saying the first thing that came to his mind. “I want which people won’t look at. You know, blacked out windows and all that. But not something that feels normal. I don’t know how to explain it better.”

“Did you have a particular brand in mind?”

“No, but there has to be room for a passenger. Not a big one, mind you, but they have to be comfortable.”

“And what other requirements do you have to fulfil?”

“I’ll look around a little, and then get back to you, okay?”

“Very well, sir. I will be around the front,” The salesman said and nodded politely, ears splayed, as he retreated.

As he wandered among the various cars, Liam wondered why he’d even bothered to begin with. All he knew about cars was which one was the right one to be seen in. He’d always been driven around in the back of limos and anonymous executive saloons. He had cars back home, in his old home, for the same reason he owned a fridge or a vacuum cleaner. It was just what people who lived on their own did. But now, he had nobody to drive him around, and there were places he wanted to be which he didn’t want some loose-tongued taxi driver to tell anyone about.

He walked past an anonymous looking saloon car, which caught his eyes. It was reasonably sized, sleek and aggressive styling, but in an anonymous way. The tinted windows with thin chrome sills, and the double headlights and black mesh grill had that “don’t look at me” feel to it. It was somehow fierce, subdued and elegant all at once. It made him think of Cally. He imagined it pulling up to the run-down house in the outer suburbs, and the mixer getting into the passenger seat. The oatmeal leather interior would go well with his short, well managed coat, and there was plenty of room in the front, and the back, if they wanted to replay that night. He consciously knew his motivation for wanting this car was based on flawed logic, wishful thinking and straight up lies he told himself. But he didn’t change his mind.

An hour of empty talk later, he sat in the driver’s seat of a fifteen-year-old used car with fifty thousand miles, or perhaps they used kilometres here, on the clock. Surely, they must use kilometres, because he couldn’t be doing fifty in the city while some cyclists almost kept level with him. Driving on the wrong side of the road had been difficult at first, but he’d been to the UK many times, and quickly got used to the flow of the traffic. For a while, he just drove around. The stereo was silent. All the noise of the street outside, the cars, the crowds and chatter, was all stopped by the thick glass and nicely insulated interior of the car.

He picked Cindy up outside the hotel when her shift ended. Though his car was second hand, she thought it was nice. Liam took her to a café, one which she picked out. He’d rather not invite suspicion by taking her to Alex’s café, and he was pretty sure she didn’t keep it open at nights. With a coffee each, nestled in the back of the café where nobody would bother them, Liam decided to take the plunge.

“You wanted to talk?”

“Yeah, I mean... I know it’s probably weird and all,” Cindy sipped her cup, seemingly in an effort to slow down the oncoming explanation. “I mean, you’re practically a stranger, right? But you’re cool, you know. And I figured it was kind ‘a funny how you ran into my little brother like that. He figured you were really cool too. What’s the chances we’re both wrong, eh?” She laughed a little uneasily, but Liam just waved her concerns away.

Liam had remembered Ced the best. The enthusiasm had mostly masked his reluctant suspicion. Who wanted to suspect their idol, right? But Cindy had sharper eyes, and more life experience. Liam had to tread carefully so that he didn’t reveal anything he ought not to.

“You’re cool too,” Liam said. “You know, down to earth and all that. I don’t know if he told you, but I left it all behind back there. In the US. That also meant all my friends, or... eh... the people I thought were my friends. I don’t know. Maybe they were, maybe they thought they were, but I didn’t want those kinds of friends, you know?”

“Nah I get ya, gotta cut that toxic bullshit out of your life, that’s for sure.” There was a slight pause which to any other observer might not have been noticed, but to Liam, it was almost predictable.

“You got some toxic people in your life you’d like to cut out, don’t you?”

It was a bold question, and for a moment he wondered if he’d gone too far too quickly. But then, Cindy nodded, letting her large ears splay to the side momentarily.

“We’re trying to get away from dad,” she said softly, so that only Liam could hear. “Ced and me, we had been saving up for a while now without him knowing about it.”

“Right,” Liam said and nodded, encouraging her on. “Saving is good, how’s it going.”

“Up and down. Took a little hit when getting Cally home, but we’re getting there. Occasionally, I have to bring cash home, and then dad will just take it. But if I can deposit it in the bank, he can’t do much, so I try to do that as often as I can.”

“He takes from you?” Liam was shocked. “Like... has it happened a lot?”

Cindy nodded. “He’s on Centrelink, but they don’t pay enough to support his drinking, so he takes what he can find in the house. I mean, Cally’s got his night shifts, and Ced can work long hours during the day, but there’s always a point in time where all three of us are out, and we’ve gotten used to keep our money on us at all times.”

“That’s awful,” Liam said, shock so thick in his voice that it raised to an uncomfortable volume. He reined himself in when he saw Cindy flick her ears uneasily. “How... how much do you guys need?”

“I can’t take donations,” Cindy said almost immediately.

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“I mean why not?” Liam asked, “You’re in need of money, I’ve got too much, seems like a good deal, don’t you think?”

“I can’t...” Cindy said slowly, but she was clearly hesitating. Liam broke in quickly.

“Listen, Cindy. This isn’t just for you, right. It’s something I want to do too. First of all, I’ve been living high on the money I got for my songs. Money that indirectly came from you and Ced, and millions of kids like you. I want to give it back.

“I’m not a registered charity,” Cindy said, trying on a chuckle but it came out rather more choked than was probably intended. “Why are you... so nice?”

“Because” Liam insisted. Then he stopped to actually consider the question. Sure, if he just wanted to give back, he could go to a youth hostel, and start handing out bills, or start a foundation or charity. But he’d never done that. He had, however, lavished large tips on the three mixers. Was it all to get closer to Cally? Was he lobbying them? He shook the thought. Regardless of his motives, he was sure that he was doing good, and his money went somewhere where they were clearly needed.

“Because?” Cindy asked, when Liam couldn’t decide in time. “You’re... you’re into me?”

Liam couldn’t help but bark, a short but slightly too loud woof of a laugh. “No, no, Cindy. I’m not into you, don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t,” She hurried to say, trying to mask what Liam now read as disappointment.

“For real?” Liam asked. “Hey, it’s cool, I’m flattered. But I’m not in the habit of offering money to people I want to date... err... At least I try not to be. Sometimes. But I promise, this doesn’t... mean anything like that, you know.”

Cindy lowered her shoulders and sighed a long sigh. “No, no, I guess it was a bit farfetched.”

“Nah, you know what they say. It’s not you, it’s me.”

Liam let himself laugh and ordered another coffee. In this café, he did make sure to pay with smaller bills. It was one of those franchise things he’d seen along the streets every now and then. This one’s main appeal was its location and its furnishings. Certainly not it’s drinks. They didn’t do that sweet, spiced tea or coffee thing that Alex made. But from here, he could look out onto the main street, and see his car parked out front. It lent a sort of permanence to it all, in the same way that his apartment did. But his car would be with him and remind him that he belonged here now.

“So, what’s this all about, then?” Cindy asked, breaking him out of his reverie.

Distantly, and as if he wasn’t saying the words himself, he spoke.

“I’m into your brother.”

The world seemed to ground to a halt outside. He was into Cally. There was absolutely no doubt about it. A fire burned within him, which made him want to shout it out, but eight years of industry bullshit dampened that desire and made him admit it to this mixer in her favourite café instead. And Cally didn’t want him, because Cally was already someone else’s.

“My brother?” She asked. The red lights of the cars outside reflected in her eyes and lent her an ominous look, as if she was about to explode here and now. “Like... Cally, right? I god damn hope you don’t mean Ced, cus he’s too young-”

“Yeah,” Liam splayed his ears. “Yeah, I... Him.”

“You’re... gay?” Cindy whispered to herself as in a trance. Liam couldn’t focus on her words. She seemed to have said some stuff after that too, but he had to excuse himself. He got up without another word, found the toilets, and locked himself in one of the booths.

He’d said it now. There was no going back, and yet, his heart was pounding, and he was not calm. He felt as if he was about to OD, but all he had in his throat was bad coffee and a lump. He wanted to be sick. But nothing came out, and all his eyes could do was to tear up. For the first time in ten years, maybe more. He emptied 8 years of pent-up rage into the palms of his paws, and soaked his sleeves with a lifetime of uncertainty, doubt and insecurity masked by a tough personality that wasn’t him. And it all came at him at once. He was gay. He was lonelier than he’d ever been. He was in love with a prostitute. He’d never loved anyone so much. And even that prostitute was out of his reach, so now trying to exercise some pathetic charity to his sister as a means of getting closer to them all. It was all so God damn unfair.

“Liam?”

The voice reverberated through the little room, her voice. He knew there were nobody in here but them. But he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

“Liam, are you all right?”

What would she think of him? Would she see through his attempts, and condemn him for it, just like his friendly gestures had ultimately earned him condemnation from Cally? Had it even been a friendly gesture? The kind thing would’ve been to leave the money on the table and leave without another word. But he had taken advantage of the situation back then, as soon as a chance presented itself. Cally outwardly consented, but Liam couldn’t shake the thought that he’d lied about that, too. At least Liam could do away with his lies. At least there’d be nothing left on the table now, that he’d come out with the big one.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” Liam said, sniffled, and flushed the toilet out of habit more than anything. He was acutely aware of how obvious his feelings were, and his eyes hadn’t been so red in quite some time. He stepped out of the booth, wiped his eyes a final time on his sleeves, and breathed a few deep breaths to steady himself. He caught Cindy’s eyes looking at him from the door, which prompted her to step inside.

“Hey, that was a very brave thing you did,” she said softly. “You wanna talk about it?”

“not here,” he groaned. He checked himself in the mirror one last time, before sighing, and going out into the café again.

“The news about me being here are starting to spread,” Liam mumbled as he seated himself back in his chair. “I don’t need added complications, you know... and this shit... this is complicated. You can’t tell anyone, not even your siblings, okay? And not about the money either. Just... take it, okay?”

Cindy nodded and agreed, and Liam suspected she didn’t have much to add anyways. He pulled out his wallet, and started leafing through the bills he kept in there as he spoke.

“Cally’s just great... but I don’t think he’s into me, or at least, if he is, I don’t think he wants to be. I really don’t want you to think badly of him for it, I’m sure he has his reasons. But can you... just... you know, test the waters? I just want to know what he thinks of me, honestly, and without... you know... without anything riding on it. Seems he’s more honest about me when I’m not around.”

“Y-you want me to-“

Liam pushed the rest of the money he’d kept in his wallet over, after he grew bored of trying to count it.

“And get yourselves out of that place, and somewhere safe, and nice.”

“Liam,” Cindy mumbled, shocked. “There’s got to be damn near fifteen thousand here. What the hell! How do I explain that?”

“Well, let’s just say I tipped a lot this time, because I appreciate your company. Or don’t say anything and slip a few hundred into that savings pile every other week or so until you get where you’re going.”

Liam splayed his ears; he wasn’t sure how he could look anyone in the eyes who looked as much as Cally as his sister did.

“You obviously care about him,” Cindy said, eyeing the money on the table between them without motioning towards them. “I know he’s got his secrets and everything, and I honestly respect that. But he’s been really down ever since we got him back.”

“What do you suppose I can do about that?”

Cindy shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’m just saying, he’s not necessarily likely to just open up to me like that. I can try to have a talk with him, again, I guess.”

“Don’t mention that it’s on my behalf. Find some other reason... And take the money, please. Even if you don’t intend to use them, take them. Tell... tell Cally he should take a few days off.”

“So, you know where he works?” Cindy tilted her head.

“Yeah, I know. It’s definitely not something I’m allowed to share, however.”

“Is it dangerous? Illegal?”

“Not really, no, and it’s legal, I guess. I wouldn’t worry about that.” Liam shrugged and reminded himself that the talent had to leave the clubs in groups. “He can take care of himself; I have no doubt. And he’s among friends where he works. Good friends. Just remember what we talked about. I’m not taking that money back again. If you want to, I can swing by a bank right now, so that you can deposit it.”

“You don’t want to sit for longer?” She asked, perking her ears. “I don’t mind, you know.”

“No. No. I have plenty enough to think about for one night.”

It was only the weakest excuse he could think of, but it seemed to stick. Cindy joined him in the car moments later, and they stopped by an ATM which accepted deposits. From there, Liam drove back to the house he’d had programmed into the map application on his phone and dropped Cindy off by the train station near their suburb, some ways away from the house, just in case either of her brothers were around. Of all the people in the world, Cally was the last person he’d want to see while hanging out with his sister or indeed, Ced. For now, the situation was under control.

Back in his apartment, he finally got down to the nub of the matter, pushing all thoughts aside. He opened his laptop and opened a new document.

“Statement from Liam Connor as regards the state of things:” he wrote. He wasn’t clear headed enough to focus on the spelling, or the structure and content of the document. From the mess of text eventually vomited out, he could discern one thing. He’d promised them an album. An amazing album, a goodbye album. One year from the release of his last album. The other parts of the letter were an appeal to his fans to not go looking for him. He was taking a vacation to charge his creative batteries. Without them; no album. He knew it wasn’t going to matter much what he said, but perhaps he could dissuade some of them from coming and disturbing him. He still had important work to do. He left the statement open on his laptop and settled on the bed in his empty penthouse bedroom, with a view to the cityscape outside. He wondered if he could spot the nightclub from this apartment. His eyes spent a few moments mindlessly scanning the network of roads and buildings, but his mind wandered those streets. Here he stood on the top of the city, the king of his domain, for whom nothing was impossible. Brought to his knees by a common prostitute.

He spent the rest of the night trying to come up with a storyline to base his next album around, but soon felt his eyes grow heavy and sleep overtake him.

Writing an album had never been easy. He’d written six platinums, two golds and three albums before he broke through, which had since gone to become collectible. It was never easy; it was never straight forward. He’d never had pressure like this, though, so the words tumbled out of him as soon as he sat down with his laptop the next day. At first, he wrote as came natural to him, the style which he’d employed all his career, a pseudo intellectual, ironic deconstructivist look on society, with all the allegory he could twist and fit into his language. But he found more and more of himself slipping through the net. Finding the right words to write, or the right sentences to use to make the songs flow and feel musical had never been the problem. Now, the problem was that he didn’t know how much he ought to share. While writing out ideas and turns of phrases he’d like to incorporate into his songs, he heard his phone buzz. He dived for it, hoping against hope that Cally had decided to talk.

“Mr. Connor?” The calm female voice on the other end of the line quickly dashed Liam’s hopes that he’d get to hear Cally’s voice again. “This is Sarah from Department of Home Affairs.”

“Oh, shit, yeah, Hey,” Liam muttered, quickly bringing up the paperwork he’d stored on his pc for just this occasion. “Yeah, you’ve got the right dog, What’s this about?”

“We’ve reviewed your application, and considered your lawyer’s recommendations, and we’re pleased to say that everything looks to be in order. I can fast-track you in the system, if you’re available to do so. How does this sound to you?”

“What exactly does fast-tracking entail,” Liam asked, “Is it like... next week?”

“Well, as it stands, you have to go through a few mandatory interviews, and a citizenship test. We will send some information about the latter in your mail. Since you have provided us with the bill of sale for an address in Australia, the rest of this is really rather simple. There will be a one-time fee, and as I said, you will have to show up to an interview. But we’ll slot you in at the earliest convenient dates available. If you fail to show up at any of the appointments, you’ll fall to the back of the line. Does this sound good to you?”

Liam sighed and leaned back on his bed. Mike was one of the good ones. One step closer.

“What’s this interview then?” Liam asked, when the word didn’t want to leave his head. “It’s not with like, cameras and stuff.”

“It is a strictly confidential interview, you will explain your reasons for coming here, and your plans moving forward to a board of reviewers, who will ultimately judge whether or not you are suitable to come here.”

“I’m pretty sure I won’t be a burden,” Liam said, knowing that he said it just to hear himself say it. “I’ve mainly come here for retirement purposes, and I’m set for life as regards money.”

“I won’t be present in the interview, Mr. Connor, you can save it for then.” The woman on the other end snickered very softly. “Anyways, I’ll send some more information to your supplied mail address, is the one you registered still current?” She read up the mail address Liam had made for himself the day he’d come to Sydney.

“Yeah, that sounds right,” Liam said, and soon after, a message popped up as a notification on Liam’s PC.

“Well, that’s all I wanted to say for now, have a nice day, Mr. Connor.”

Liam put the phone down and focused on the screen in front of him. By fast track, she wasn’t kidding. The interview was in a few days, and the test, for which he’d have to study, was in a month and a half. That wasn’t so important though. In fact, none of this was much important at all. No new messages from that darned mixer. Resisting the urge to check his social media, which Liam knew was a step towards a slippery slope, he instead muted his phone, leaned back on his bed, and tried to nap. He’d not had a drink for probably twelve hours or so, so he satiated his urge.

Though his writing didn’t particularly suffer from his malaise, it wasn’t going to get him platinum just yet. The next few days he spent in almost absolute silence, focusing on his writing. He ordered takeaway, and had some booze delivered. Just enough to keep his nerves settled. The silence was a strange break from the norm. He didn’t even feel his urge for cigarettes anymore, and his hangovers had the time to die down before he had another round of drinks. But all that came back like a brick to the head, all at once, when his phone buzzed again.

And this time, it was Cally.

“We should talk,” the text read. “Not the club, somewhere public. Don’t need to pick me up, I’ll get there by myself.”

Short and direct, and sharpened like a blade. The implications were obvious. It might as well have said “I feel threatened by you. Let’s meet somewhere where there are witnesses. I don’t want your help.”

He stared at the text for a long time, before, using all his restraint, he’d sent the address for Alex’s café, and nothing else.

They met there, as the oppressive sunshine fell behind a light cloud cover. Liam panted when he made his way on foot to the café in question. For a split second, he wondered if he’d been stood up, but when he looked closer, he saw a familiar looking dog seated at one of the tables behind the large front windows.

Liam headed inside, with trepidation and excitement mingled with worry that he was going to hear more things which he didn’t want to hear. But he steeled himself and greeted Cally as a friend.

With a deep sigh, Cally initiated the conversation.

“I’ve been thinking a lot.” He scratched one of his large batlike ears, but they didn’t stay up no matter what he did to them. “I think it’s best if you stop seeing me.”

“No, why?” Liam asked, not at all the tough, butch Bull Terrier who appeared on his album covers. He laid his ears flat and swallowed, before resuming his less than confident voice. “Come on, don’t say that.”

“It’s not you, it’s me.”

“Hey, now. Am I really not worthy of a better dumping line than that?”

“This isn’t me dumping you, Liam,” Cally said calmly. “This is me cutting out someone from my life who unsettles me and makes me feel uncomfortable.”

Liam opened his jaw, but no words came out. Because he couldn’t argue. But he didn’t know how much Cally knew, so he remained silent but for a quiet whisper. “What did I do?”

“Besides the incident at my work?” Cally asked, testily.

“y-yeah,” Liam said carefully lowering his voice even further in case Cally felt the need to remind him. It was not a proud moment.

“How about you explain this?” Cally pulled out an envelope from his jacket pocket and slid it across the table to Liam. “You’re trying to buy my good will?”

Liam didn’t have to look into the envelope in order to guess what it contained. IT was about as thick as the stack of cash he’d given to Cindy just a few days ago.

“Those were... well-“

“And let’s not even begin talking about why my sister got this from you! Apparently, you’ve been talking to my brother and sister. Without even telling me? Telling them to not tell me? What the hell, Liam, that’s sketchy as fuck. Tell me why I shouldn’t just cut all ties right here and right now.”

“Because I can explain,” Liam said, desperately. Why hadn’t he cut all ties already? “Now, it’s going to sound a bit farfetched, but here goes.” He sighed and tried to ground himself by focusing on the coffee in his paws, but he couldn’t. “First of all, I’m sorry. You deserve an apology. I promise there’s nothing sinister, I literally just ran into them completely at random. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t recognize them. You were so fresh in my memory, and the whole thing caught me off guard. And well... Your siblings are nice guys, and I don’t know anyone here.”

“There are thousands of nice guys who aren’t my siblings.” Cally said coldly. He folded his arms, cupped his ears, and lent back in his chair. “Go on.”

“Well, you know, I talked to your sister, and she told me how difficult things had been for you guys. I kinda’ felt bad for you, so I wanted to help.”

“You were helping,” Cally said slowly. “Before you went and made it weird. Dumping several thousand dollars into my sisters’ paws.”

“I’m still not sure how I made it weird,” Liam said, “Look, I know I said some dumb shit that night in the club, but I already apologized for that, and I honestly don’t know what you want from me.”

“I don’t want anything, Liam,” he shot back, quickly. “I don’t need your apologies. I don’t need a rich benefactor, I don’t need boyfriend, I can handle myself fine on my own.”

“On your own?” Liam asked, splaying his ears. “I thought you had a-“

“None of your business,” Cally barked suddenly. Then even he splayed his ears and looked around. Liam remained speechless even long after Cally had regained his words. “It’s... really isn’t none of your business. I don’t understand why you keep pushing me with that. That’s weird, Liam.”

“That’s cool, I won’t get involved. I’m not here to steal anyone’s boyfriends. Honestly, if you’ve got someone you care about, that’s fine. I’m happy for you. But, you’re acting really strange. I think you’re in pain. You’ve a right to that secret sure. But I’m honestly asking you about it, now, and I really think I deserve to know.”

“Why do you think you deserve to know anything? Because you gave me money? Let me just tell you, that’s not-“

“Because I love you, damn it,” Liam hissed. He could barely wrap his tongue around those words, but the moment he said them, he wanted to say them again. “I love you, and I can live with never having you. I accept my fate. But I can’t deal with seeing the guy I love being upset. I can’t just leave it. Tell me about him. Tell me about Joel, and why he’s so special to you.”

“Who told you his name?” Cally asked, suddenly a strain of defensiveness entered his tone. “I never said anything about him.”

“You confirmed it just now,” Liam mumbled, trying not to seem as if he took any joy from breaking through the layer of ice in Cally’s voice. “I saw his name on your laptop. And I have... I have this.” Liam pulled out Cally’s notebook and deposited it on the table, on top of the envelope, as if signalling that the two belonged together, and that one who wanted one should have to take the other with him. Cally hesitated. He looked from Liam’s eyes to the little book on the table, then back, with his ears folded back completely.

“Y-you shouldn’t have taken that...”

A hairline crack appeared in the otherwise confident voice of the mixer, as he snatched the notebook.

“I’m sorry,” Liam began. “I just needed to write out an autograph, and I sort of automatically stuck it in my pocket. It’s an old habit but listen... What’s going on here?”

“It’s none of your-“

“Cally. I know a few things about suppressed emotions. I’ve had a fuckin lot of those, completely upended my whole reality, you know. This whole Australia project, for me, was another way to escape. And I think you’re on the run, too.”

“You just want to separate us. I see you, Liam. You say you love me even when you know you can never be with me… But nobody can just give up on someone they love just like that. Nobody.”

Cally’s voice was hurt. A pulsing, aching hurt which radiated from it, a pain which was so far beyond anything Liam had known before. In all his eight years writing famous lyrics, he’d never been able to convey as much pain as Cally just had.

“How can you say that? I’m here to help. I swear on my life.I’m not here to steal you away from your boyfriend.”

Cally fidgeted on his chair whenever Liam mentioned the b-word. Something was really wrong with all this mess.

“If you don’t want the money, fine. I can help in other ways. I can listen. I know people, I can get things done.”

“Why?”

“Your friends, Cally, worry about you. Your family worries about you. I’ve talked about the things you don’t, and all say the same thing. You won’t let people inside. You can’t tell anyone what really happened, why you had to leave. I’m sure it hurts. I’m prepared to listen to that. I’m prepared to sit down and let you talk, and not judge you no matter what you say. It’s about time, don’t you think? How about it?”

“I didn’t come here to explain myself,” Cally mumbled, but it was a feeble excuse, which he seemingly knew. “You’ve still got some explanation to do... but... but maybe we could keep talking. Not tonight, however. I don’t feel... I don’t feel like I could.”

“That’s fine,” Liam said encouragingly. “Take the time you need. But the next time we meet, I hope we can talk more openly together.”

“Maybe,” Cally said simply, sipping his coffee with a distant expression. Then, with a long sigh, he seemed to switch tracks in his head. “So, how did you end up meeting my brother?”

That got Liam talking about the events leading up to his acquisition of the bed. That story made Cally smile briefly. A slightly derogatory smile, but a smile none the less. From there, Liam bemoaned his lack of furniture, and the reluctance to get any on his own. Cally didn’t pick up on the invite, so he just said it straight out. “I wondered if you could be some help with getting my apartment furnished.”

“OH, really?” Cally asked, some lightness entering his tone, and the heavy subjects of the earlier conversation drifted to the back of Liam’s mind. The tension of their initial meeting seemed to evaporate slightly.

“Yes really, I figured you’d know this better than I.”

“We’re not all interior designers, Liam.” The tone was chiding in that sarcastic fashion which wasn’t really chiding at all. “You’ve seen where I live. Don’t waste your breath on empty flattery.

“No, no,” Liam let himself smile back. “No, I mean, you’re local.”

“As is my brother, and he works in a furniture store! You really are way too into me, Liam. You have to snuff that fire out before it starts to catch.” Cally smiled. A sweet, soft sound which reminded Liam of all the things he still adored about the mixer.

“It’s not like that, I swear,” Liam said. “Your brother... is a bit enthusiastic really, but hey. You don’t ask a wine seller to recommend you a wine, and you don’t ask a store employee to sell you shit. You ask someone who has no vested interest. Layman’s perspective?” Liam picked up his own notebook, and quickly wrote a few lines in it which he’d suddenly remembered. All the while, Cally looked across to see what he was writing.

“You’ve got a really nice handwriting, there.”

“You think?” Liam asked, confused. “I guess I’ve got more practice than most, what with all the lyrics I write.”

“Are you writing something new now?” Cally asked. “I thought you said you were done with it?”

“Well, it seems we both said a lot of things, didn’t it?” Liam smiled disarmingly, but the comment had, as he feared, fallen slightly on the wrong side of appropriate. “Relax, I’m joking. I’ve been writing a lot lately because I have to study for my upcoming citizenship test-“

“So quickly?” Cally asked. “I thought you needed to stay here for a while first.”

“Well, it turns out that my lawyer is better than most. He’ll fix anything, find anyone, and know just what to say to the right people to get me ahead. There’s nothing more required from me, what with my address and income, so there’s nothing stopping me.”

“Was there any reason for you to stop yourself?”

“I’m not sure I get ya, Cally.”

“Have you ever thought, since you came here, that you could just go back. Go home to the US and have the same experience there. Go and hide away in a small town somewhere where nobody knows you?”

“I haven’t,” Liam said warily. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, nothing. I guess I envy that about you... You know, the money and all. I could probably do a lot with that.”

“Right.” Liam considered pushing further, but he knew he could hook Cally in for a fun evening of furniture shopping if he was just careful what he said, and never strayed back on the sore topics. “And anyways, I want to get my last album out, and I think I can do that better from here.”

“You’re writing an album?” Cally asked, “Why?”

“Because I have to. They got me by the nuts, my old manager threatened to sue me for breach of contract, unless I got him an album one year from now. They haven’t got a solid case, but enough to go on to really fuck things up for me.”

“Is one year a lot?” Cally asked. “It doesn’t sound like a lot.”

“No, it took me almost two years to conceive my last album,” Liam said. “I didn’t have this much free time then, though. Maybe it’ll be different, we’ll see. Speaking of, how’s that university coming along?”

That seemed to lighten Cally’s mood a little.

“Not too bad,” he said, “Application went through, and I just had to pay the fee. I was going to do that with the money from the club, but-”

Liam pushed the envelope over to him, wordlessly.

“No, not like that... I can’t be indebted to you, Liam. I’m sure you understand, that’s not something I want.”

“Then don’t be,” Liam heard himself say. “You owe me nothing.”

“You know it doesn’t work like that, Liam. You don’t believe that either. You came here because you thought I owed you an explanation. This money complicates things.”

“Then let me see you dance again, please.”

“You know I can’t agree to that,” Cally sighed.

“Why not?”

Cally got an annoyed look to him, but Liam headed him off before he could speak. “I won’t put a paw on you, I promise. I’ll watch, I’ll keep quiet, and I’ll pay you just like any other. But not a touch and not a word. Don’t you remember what I said when we first met? I have helped a lot of girls through college already. This won’t have to be any different.”

“Except you probably slept with those girls afterwards?”

“Not all of them,” Liam said, with a defensive tone but a genuine smile. He was close now, ever so close.

“I guess... If you swear, you’ll not do anything. That includes talking. Not a word, right? I’ll get you blacklisted if you step one toe out of line. You hear me?”

“Not a single word.”

“I’m... I’m different when I get into it, I get all kinds of worked up. I don’t trust myself when I’m like that. And the wine doesn’t help, really. It was a nice gesture though. Don’t stop. But keep your word. Even if it may seem that I’m sending off some kind of signal, don’t stray, Liam. Can you promise me that?”

“I can promise that, that’s fine,” Liam said, tail starting to bat behind him, slowly at first, then quicker as he saw Cally’s accommodating smile. “Thanks, Cally. I needed that.”

“I guessed you probably did.”

He was as good as he’d always been. A few nights later, Liam was sat in the club, enjoying the show. Graceful, wonderfully painted up in celebration of a pride festival of some kind which was taking place somewhere in the city. Cally had teal, yellow and magenta markings all over his body, in a sweet smelling, non-permanent dye.

He swung around on the pole, and Liam dutifully sat with his paws over his lap, clutching a dirty white lady, as he’d requested from Bunny the server. As Cally danced, the harlequin rabbit entered the room with a tray of two new drinks, and Cally’s favourite, the red amaretto. Cally didn’t seem to notice Bunny being there, but Liam noticed two long eyes which lingered on the mixer, and he got a sudden feeling of defensiveness. With a curt nod and a quick comment, he informed Bunny that there would be no more service required.

When Cally was done, stripped down and panting on the pole, and the music was done, Liam clapped, and deposited a stack of bills on the table between them before getting up and leaving.

It was slightly uncomfortable at first, but after the second and third night, he’d learned from his mistakes, and brought looser pants. There was no use hiding it, anyways, Cally knew what was going on, and he knew what he was doing.

He knew what he was doing.

The thought crossed Liam’s mind during the fourth session they had together. There had been a knowing look to his eyes. A hint of a smile, enticing him further. It was just the money talking, Liam felt sure. He’d promised to never make a move, even if it seemed like the only thing to do.

The last few days, they had driven around the town and suburbs, hunting for just the right kind of décor for Liam’s place. Their conversations, and the way their friendship progressed had held a refreshingly different pace. Languid as a long summer and fresh as the autumn breeze which followed it. But as he made his way back to his apartment, alone, to release his pent-up frustration into his own paws, he wondered about that mixer again.

What he’d done wrong the last time was to not respect the two Cally’s. The Cally that he was getting it on with had been a friend, up until they fucked. Then he’d become a prostitute. But that prostitute didn’t exist outside that night club. It was just Cally who had helped him pick out furniture. It was just Cally who had helped him study for the citizenship test. It was just Cally who had amped him up, and additionally gone clothes shopping with him, before his interview with the government. It was just Cally that Liam felt a longing for, by the end of the night, when his paws were sticky, and his body was warm. It was just Cally he loved, but only the prostitute who might accept his love.

It took a while, but eventually, he had paid in tips what Cally had refused to take. He waited outside the club when the stack of money had finally dried up, in the bar he knew Cally and his colleagues would go past. He didn’t make himself nice and visible for everyone this time, because the news had started to spread about his being at large in Sydney. He’d started wearing long sleeves and hoodies again, and not just because he wanted to remain incognito in the nightclub either. The summer months had started which meant the weather was easing over on the chilly side with low eighties and seventies in the mornings.

Cally came by at his regular time and slipped out of the crowd and into the bar where Liam sat.

“It’s been nice,” he said as a way to break the ice. “Hanging out with you, I mean. Not just the money.”

“I thought so too. I noticed you’ve got a wag going lately.” Liam pointed to the tail, which still batted offhandedly behind Cally.

“Oh, you saw that?” Cally laughed uneasily, but with a slight embarrassed skew to his ears. “It’s been refreshing to not have to fuck someone for a while. I can focus on my steps and just tune out. Let myself think about other things.”

“Sounds nice, I wish I could do that,” Liam snickered. “Tune out, I mean, not dance. That’s just not happening, I think.”

“No?” Cally tilted his head with a mischievous smile on his muzzle. “How about I show you some moves, and you could learn?”

“I’m not going to pole dance,” Liam laughed, “It was a figure of speech...”

“Aww, come on,” Cally insisted, and Liam was almost too surprised by what he realised in order to take any actions on it. “You... wanna come over to my place? And show me some moves, perhaps?”

Cally flicked his ears once but his smile maintained. “Getting better,” he said. “Well, for one, I’m seriously considering the offer, but for the other... You know I can’t be alone with you like that. I don’t trust myself. I’ve got a boyfriend... he might be jealous.”

“What’s there to be jealous about? I’m just a friend and occasional customer, right?”

“Yeah,” Cally said, and turned his muzzle away, “You are a friend, aren’t you? A really good one... right?”

“Yeah, if that’s what you want, then-“

“I’m not interested in you changing for me. You love me. That’s just the truth, Liam, and I can’t do… this… with someone who loves me. It’s not how it’s done. I don’t know what I should do now... I feel kinda’ bad that I’ve been letting you on for this long. Taking your money. Dancing for you like you’re some client. I don’t know if it ever could work, even like you want it to. It’s not you, it’s me.”

It was too much; Liam couldn’t keep the mask on anymore. That line was just an insult in slightly more words.

“At least tell me... okay? I’ve never heard you talk about this boyfriend of yours, and your friend says nobody’s allowed to talk about him. Has anyone even met him? Is he real? I want to know why. I want to know why you punish yourself so much.” Liam’s frustration let out in the voice. It was wrong of Cally to say no, remain friendly, and then pretend like there wasn’t someone who had made him say that. Pretend that his behaviour was normal, and not harmful. “I want to meet this Joel, and... well, to be honest, I want to shake his paw and congratulate him, I guess.”

“Y-you can’t... he’s not... he’s not here, right now.” Cally whined. An actual, desperate whine. Fear and worry lingered after the whine died down, in his eyes, his mannerisms. “I’m sorry Liam. Let it go.”

“What? What’s the matter, Cally, you looked like you saw a ghost!”

Cally shrank even further down into his chair, and hid his muzzle in his paws, holding it as if to prevent more words from coming out. With a hesitant squeak, he suddenly hid his whole face, and started sobbing. Liam couldn’t do anything. He just sat there, feeling as helpless and lost as he’d ever done.

“P-please stop talking, Liam,” Cally whined piteously. “I don’t want to talk. I want to go home.”

“What?” Liam asked, confused. “What’s the matter now?” He could no longer keep the annoyance out of his voice. But even so, what he stood to lose was far more than what little catharsis he might have in letting his frustration show. So, he lowered his ears, and looked around. Cally had started crying for real, and people were looking their way.

“Alright, let me take you home, okay?”

Apparently, that was allowed, so Liam stepped to the task with great care. He took the mixer by his shoulders, and led him out of the bar, guiding him towards the main street where he knew the taxis would be parked up about now. He’d led plenty of shy girls away from prying eyes in his time, so this was a thing he knew by instinct.

Cally remained silent, quietly sobbing as Liam guided him into a taxi. When they drove out of the city, his tears stopped, but his eyes didn’t regain any of the life they’d had. When he didn’t stare down into the footwell, he stared out, looking into the middle distance, still with red, teary eyes.

Liam swallowed as they neared the address which he’d given the taxi driver. He ought to say goodbye, and give the poor dog a hug, a sense that someone cared, that someone was willing to be there for him. But with Cally’s frail and recalcitrant emotions, he wasn’t sure if he’d not make things worse by doing so.

The need for physical closeness grew too overpowering, and he stepped out of the taxi along with Cally when they got back. Cally didn’t say anything. He stood, stiff as a board, in front of his home, staring straight at its front door. Liam came up beside him, and slowly, cautiously, grasped his paw.

When Cally looked up then, it was as if a weight lifted from him. With a sigh, Cally squeezed the paw back. To Liam, who had been worrying himself almost sick about what might be wrong, this felt like a major step.

“I’ll talk to you later, then?” He asked, caressing Cally’s paw.

“Maybe. I’m going to take a break from work, I think. Least’ I can afford to, now.”

“Where can I meet you, then?”

“I’ll call you when I feel ready... I’m sorry it has to be this way, Liam. I’m just not strong enough to face it, just yet.”

“It?”

“Yeah.”

“The past?”

Cally breathed a ragged sigh and lowered his shoulders even further. “Y-yeah.”

“Will you tell me, one day?”

“I think so,” Cally said, squeezing his paw harder.

“Thank you,” Liam said, taken with the serene moment of calm in Cally’s emotional state. “If there’s anything I can do, anything at all, then don’t hesitate to ask.”

Cally looked at him for a long time, until Liam feared another acerbic comment was about to come out, but all the mixer did, after some hesitation, was to stand on his tip toes, and place a gentle kiss on Liam’s cheek.

Then he let his paw slip out of Liam’s, and he walked up the driveway and into the backyard, away from Liam’s sight.

Within the end of that week, Liam had finally managed to finish the rest of the apartment interior decoration. Mostly, he’d been to a white goods store and gotten a fridge, and then filled that fridge up with various drinks. His diet still consisted mostly of take-away, but one day, he figured he might want learn to cook. And when that day came, he’d now be prepared. With a lightened mood, he therefore picked up his phone when it rang on the first buzz.

“Liam speaking,” he said with a cheerful tone.

“Liam?” the voice on the other end said. “It’s Cindy, do you have time to chat?”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about it. What’s up?”

“Yeah, sure,” she said. “It’s about Cally. Have you spoken to him?”

“Spoken to him?” Liam asked, straining his head to keep up this early. “I had a chat with him after work, a few days ago, but he said he’d take some time off, so I’ve not seen him.”

“He’s not here, and I don’t know where he works. But you do. Could you check on him? He’s not answering his phone either.”

“Not answering his phone?” Liam asked, his ears perking slowly. “Wait, what’s going on? What happened?”

“I don’t know what happened,” Cindy complained. “Can you just keep your eyes open, see if you find him? I hope this isn’t what I think it is.”

“Y-yeah,” Liam said dully. What could’ve happened? Cally had seemed depressed, but momentary lapses of depression couldn’t lead to suicide. Right? Liam wished he’d paid better attention to the few friends he’d lost in that way. Or he could’ve run away? “I’ll look around some places, let me know if you hear anything else, alright?”

“Alright,” Cindy said, sighing heavily. “I just hope he’s alright.”

“I’m sure he will be,” Liam responded, not at all convinced of his own words. Cally hadn’t been anywhere close to alright the last time Liam saw him. Liam had known people to disappear. They always did, the famous of LA, to reappear somewhere else, with a slew of new stories to tell, one or two new addictions to feed, or a fine to pay down. Or a conviction. Or in a casket.

He necked a few doubles to give him the strength he needed to go back to the gay district. The sun was still out, and it was really scorching today, so he kept to the shadows, passing under the awnings along the sidewalk. With his flat brim on, few could recognize him if they weren’t already closely familiar with his tattoos. Thankfully, that was not something many people paid attention to in general.

In no time at all, he found Cally’s work, the strip joint which looked much classier in the dark. The sunlight took away all the appeal from its façade. Blacked out windows, bars in front of the entrance. The doors were closed, too. Not slated to open before seven in the evening. But Liam wasn’t about to be turned away. He looked through the glass in the front door. In the shadows of the bar, he could see movements, faint but distinct. Liam tapped on the glass, and the shape moved. He tapped again. Drawing closer, the shape became clear to Liam as Ash, Cally’s colleague. The mouse recognized him more or less at the same time and came over to the door, gesturing with a confused expression. When he was close enough, Liam could make out his voice.

“We’re not open yet-“

“I know,” Liam hurried to add in an intense whisper, looking over his shoulder. “I need to talk, can I come in?”

“We’re closed, I-“

“Jesus Christ,” Liam groaned. “It’s really important. Is Cally there?”

“Cally’s said to me just this morning he’d taken a few weeks off.”

“A few weeks?”

Liam’s ears splayed. “Wait a minute. This morning? Hey, come on, let me in, man.”

“Strewth,” Ash complained, but he came over to the door and unlocked it all the same and unlocked the bars in front of it. Liam slipped inside and wandered over to the portion of the main floor where the light from the street outside didn’t touch.

“You’re starting to become quite familiar with this place, arent’cha?” Ash smirked, looking Liam up and down as soon as he’d locked the door behind him. “Just can’t wait to get back here, can you?”

“Cally is gone,” Liam said, jumping straight to the point.

Ash’s ears splayed to the side slowly, his eyes turning from amusement to uneasiness. Liam hadn’t made any attempts to mask his slight worries either, or the mouse was likely picking up on it.

“What’s the matter?”

“Not sure, yet” Liam said. “But if he’s not here... and he’s not at home. His sister doesn’t know where he is, and she can’t reach him. He’s actually gone.”

“Gone?” Ash asked. He pulled out his phone quickly, checked his notifications, then put the phone back in his pocket. “What do you mean, where could he have gone?”

Liam’s shoulders sagged. “I’m starting to think something might be wrong. I thought I’d made progress trying to get through to him... but he looked really troubled when I dropped him off home, and I’m not sure what to make of it.”

“He could be anywhere,” Ash said. “Hang on, I can call him for you. If he doesn’t pick up your calls, maybe he’ll pick up mine.”

Ash tapped on his screen a few times and held the phone to his ears. His mildly disconcerted expression shifted almost immediately to worry. Liam didn’t need him to explain; he could hear the tinny automated voice on the other end, explaining that the number could not be reached.

“He’s turned off his phone.” Ash locked his own phone but stared at the screen for a while. “That’s new.”

“Or he’s lost it?”

“It’s definitely turned off. Probably deliberately. It didn’t even ring. Couldn’t connect.”

“So maybe he doesn’t want to be bothered?”

“But I just talked to him,” Ash pondered.

“Well, where does he usually go, when he’s not at work or at home? Does he hang out somewhere else? Friends? Other colleagues? Does he have a second job?”

Liam thought about the conversations they had in the past. Nothing indicated Cally had some routine he adhered to beyond his work, but Ash knew him better, likely as not.

“Not that I’ve been told of,” Ash said, “He might just be out on town. Who knows? Maybe he ran out of battery, or something.”

Liam could tell Ash didn’t quite believe that for himself.

“Do you think this could have something to do with his boyfriend?” Liam asked. “Because I’m not convinced. I want to be absolutely sure; you know.”

“Yeah,” the mouse said absently, brushing his whiskers. “He sounded alright when I talked to him this morning. Didn’t really give me cause for concern.”

“Well, what did he tell you then?” Liam asked, pacing around with his tail straight, his ears folded back in frustration. “What did he say, exactly?”

“He only said: I’m going to be gone for a few weeks.” Ash shrugged. “Then he told me to relay the message to our boss, and asked if I could lock his closet for him.”

“His closet...”

Liam remembered the PC, the notepad he’d inadvertently stolen. The changing room the two strippers shared might hold some clues as to what Cally had in mind. Maybe he’d been talking on that chat program.

“Is there any chance you might let me look at something?”

Ash perked up. “In his closet?”

“In the changing room,” Liam confirmed. “I think this might be important.”

“He’d kill me if he knew-“

“He could be in serious trouble,” Liam said. “Ash, look. I’m really worried. What if he’s run away or something. He might be in danger. If there’s any clues in there, I want to know.”

The mouse looked around uneasily, his eyes glancing to the door, then to the bull terrier, then towards the back of the bar, where the talent probably resided.

“I’m really not supposed to,” he mumbled weakly.

“Come on, Ash, it’s really important.” Liam threw out his paws, “What if he’s hurt or something, I dunno. What if he’s all lost or gotten himself into a bad place? If you could’ve done anything to prevent that, you would. You’re his friend.”

Ash drew in his breath through clenched teeth. “You have no idea how crazy he’s been about that PC of his. Nobody gets to so much as touch it. If he found out I’d let you look at it, he’d never speak to me again.”

“Ash, I don’t have time for this. I’ll tell him I forced you. If I find him.”

The mouse remained silent for a long time.

“You owe me real big, Liam,” he said. “Like... real big.”

“Whatever, just show me the way.” Liam muttered.

The mouse brought him back behind the bar, to an anonymous door painted the same black as the walls on the main floor. From there, they followed a corridor past a few anonymous looking doors, then up a staircase, and into another corridor. This one was more recognizable however, it was the corridor Liam had seen on his first visit here. He already knew where the door was, but let the mouse led him to it anyways.

Ash’s whiskers twitched. “We have some people in already who are practicing their sets. Keep quiet.”

Obligingly, Liam softened his steps, and kept his muzzle shut. His ears perked to pick up any sounds, but much like his sense of smell, these had been worn out by years of hard living.

Inside the changing room, much was unchanged from last time Liam was here. Though it was cleaner, and felt emptier somehow, it was still very much a strippers changing room. All kinds of strange outfits hung from a rack on one side of a large make up table, complete with a bulb framed mirror and everything. There was a door which led to a small bathroom, and another one which had the signs for toilets on it. In here was a sofa, a table with some magazines on it, a few lockers like the ones found on schools and in public pools, and there, on an ottoman next to the sofa, there was a closed laptop with lots of stickers on it. Liam headed straight for it, as he recognized it for Cally’s.

A quick glance of the stickers revealed a life well lived, both in the terms of the piece of electronics, and its’ owner. Pride stickers, events, landmarks, tourist attractions, indie bands. And a few strangely out of place ones, too. One sticker was from a minor roadside landmark along Route 66, in the US. One was from Six Flags Magic Mountain. One was from some natural landmark in the Rockies somewhere. Clearly, this laptop had travelled a lot. Liam didn’t know much about models and brands of laptop, but he recognized an older model when he saw it. Ash was about to move to stop him, but a determined glance from Liam stopped him. Drawing a deep breath, Liam opened it up. And was met with a password screen.

“Jesus wept,” He grumbled. “Ash, come here. Do you know what his password is?”

“Uh...”

“Please say yes.”

“No,” the mouse said. “Why would I?”

“Well, how am I supposed to get in here?”

“I don’t know, Liam.” Ash folded his arms. “I got you this far, I can’t really do much more.”

Liam could tell Ash wasn’t entirely convinced this was just another fluke. The mouse had looked deeply affected ever since he’d failed to get through his phone call. Liam recalled him talking about struggling to keep up contact with Cally when the mixer had been in the US, which made a bulb go off in his head.

“Do you think he’s gone back there?”

“Back?” Ash looked confused for a second. “Back to... to the US?”

“Well, do you?” Liam frowned. “To me, it’s clear he’s left something of himself behind there. Is Joel still in the US.”

“I don’t know,” Ash admitted, his ears folding down. “I guess, I only ever heard from him when they were both on Cally’s call. I don’t know the guy personally, at any stretch. But he sounded American, so I guess. Wait.” Ash’s ears flicked. “But that’d be pretty farfetched. How can he afford-“

Liam groaned again, louder this time. “Shit.”

“Wait, hold up a moment,” Ash’s voice raised. “He really shouldn’t go back there. He knows he shouldn’t.”

“There’s a chance he’s gone there.” Liam said. He headed over to the mixers locker before the words registered. “Wait, why shouldn’t he? What’s the matter?”

“I promised not to-“

“Ash, for god’s sake. Can you let it go for like one second and help me find him.”

Ashe’s fur bristled, and his whiskers splayed as he frowned. “You really shouldn’t get mixed up in this, Liam. You’re walking a thin line already, bordering on stalking. That being before you decided to sniff around in... Liam, what are you doing.”

Liam held up a pair of underwear, decidedly not made with men in mind. “What, he might have a password stashed in here somewhere.”

“When was the last time you had to write down a password,” Ash said, disgust in his voice. “Jesus Christ, dog, get your sniffer out of there!”

“Look,” Liam said. “Tell me what you know. Chances are that I can make sense of it.”

“I’m not... I’m,” Ash hesitated, preening his whiskers slowly. “Just... just close his locker please. I think I know what his password is.”

Ash headed over to the still open computer on the sofa’s armrest, and typed in four letters, whereupon he was met with the desktop.

“Oh,” Liam said sheepishly, guessing what the four letters meant. “R-right.”

“It’s not healthy.” Ash said. “Your obsession... and his.”

Ash hugged himself, then seated himself in the sofa with his eyes fixed on a piece of carpet some five yards away from him. “Joel was everything to him.”

“Was?” Liam asked. He opened the chat program when he recognized the icon, and quickly found the relevant name. Joel wasn’t hard to miss, his name had hearts and stars around it, and was on the top of the most recent chats list. But when Liam scanned the conversation, he couldn’t see any replies. Only sent messages. A sea of sent messages, stretching up. At least two or three in a day, every day, for months and months back. And no reply to any of them.

“What the hell?” Liam asked. “I thought they spoke regularly. Is this program broken?”

Ash leaned across, glancing at the screen briefly. “No.”

“You sure? I’m not seeing any-“

“No, it’s not broken. Joel hasn’t been heard from for at least half a year.”

“Oh, shit, for real?” Liam read some of the most recent messages. They were startlingly mundane. In one, Cally spoke of a pair of shoes he’d seen in a shop that day but couldn’t find online. In another, he talked about some customer he’d had. He wasn’t shy with the details, and it didn’t take long for Liam to realise Cally had been writing about him. About their encounters. In unflattering detail.

“But what if Joel didn’t write? What if he responded somewhere else, or with a microphone?”

“No, what you see is what you get. Cally hoped that he’d one day get back online, but I think he also knew that that was distant hope.”

“But why?”

“I wish I knew, Liam,” Ash said. “I’m sorry, this is way more than I should’ve told you.”

“You should’ve told me way sooner, more like,” Liam grumbled. “If I’d known this, I could’ve spoken to him. I’ve been there, we’ve all been there. So, this Joel guy didn’t want to see him anymore, and now he’s like obsessed or something. I can work with that. I can understand that. What I can’t understand is why this is so damn important to keep secret.”

Ash remained silent for a long time, while Liam read some more of Cally’s monologuing chat log. There was no discernible tone in it, nothing which indicated a sense of loss or betrayal. Nothing which suggested Cally was upset.

“They didn’t break up,” Ash said. “I’d have known if they did. Joel stopped responding, but Cally never considered their relationship over. I think he knows why Joel isn’t there anymore, but he never told anyone... hope doesn’t die that easily. And this isn’t his first boyfriend. He’s no idiot. He would’ve told me if he was available... I mean single.” Ash muttered the last sentence. “He’s my best friend, trust me on this.”

Liam looked into the mouses eyes, seeing the truth of his words. “Alright, I’ll trust you, man. But... I don’t understand any of this. Why?”

“You want to know what I think?”

“Yeah.”

“I think Joel was stopped from seeing Cally. I think... Well, you’ve heard the stories, right. What they do to kids over there? The therapy, as they call it. The camps. The churches.”

“Camps?” Liam asked. A faint memory flashed through his mind, of a summer camp. “Wait a moment, there was something about that in that notepad I... I borrowed. Something, something, Rapids Summer Camp.”

“He’s never told me about that part of his life, but I’ve come to guess a lot of this,” Ash said. “Yeah, no I’m not really sure. But... if Cally really is gone, and not just out on some errand... I’m pretty sure he might have gone back.”

“To the US-“

“To where ever he thinks he needs to go. And if he is out on an errand, and returns today, he’s going to kick my ass, and I’m going to kick yours. Got it?”

“Ash,” Liam said, softly. “I need to find him.”

Images sprung to Liam’s mind, of a Christian themed nature camp, with a disconcertingly long legal disclaimer which he’d been too bored to read through.

“I want you to find him... if he truly has gone. Before someone else, with worse intentions than you, get to him.”

“I think... I should get back home... and pack.”

“Pack?” Ash raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want to wait for a bit and check if he’s not in the city? Like... at least get a night time flight. Then I can call you if he shows up here. Or you can figure out if he’s returned home?”

“Good idea.” Liam said. “But I gotta check something too. Ash, thanks a lot. I owe you one.”

“You sure as fuck do, Liam.” Ash said. A bit of life returned to his voice. “If all this turns out alright... I’ll get what you owe me.”

The mischievous look in his eyes was unmistakeable. Liam hurried out, and locked himself out.

He took the stairs three at a time, and reached his penthouse apartment in a huff. Necking the last of his gin bottle, he tore his laptop out form under a bunch of clothing, and opened it on the kitchen counter. Impatiently, he clicked through his search history. There was a sobering number of searches for Cally’s name, and things relating to the mixer, but he had no time to worry about that. Instead, he found his way back to the results he’d brought up the day after he’d come home with the mixer’s personal notepad. There was the name he’d fruitlessly looked for. Mr. Orsted. And there was the camp. Clarence Springs Rapids. A soulful, enlightening and life affirming adventure in God’s finest nature, Liam read. Find your path to your faith. Leave the vices of society behind, and reconnect with nature.

What a load of old crap.

But in the light of his own personal development, those sentences rang with a slightly different tone. The vices of society. He’d plenty of those, and yet, there was something within him which told him those vices didn’t mean drinks, drugs or rock’n roll. No, there was only one group who would weaponize language like that so particularly.

This time, he sat down to read the legal disclaimer. It was full of phrases and words Liam hadn’t ever seen on his own contract, but which he understood none the less. Mike had taught him well.

“The camp, its affiliates or it’s staff is not responsible” was a phrase which seemed to crop up a lot. “Waiver” was a word occurring too, quite a few times. Underage applicants need a written slip from their parents. Applicants of any age encouraged to apply. Liam read all the way down to the bottom of the document. “The camp cannot guarantee a 100% success rate in conversion of young subjects, and hereby reserves the right to refuse refunds based on unsuccessful treatment, or complications that may arise from the camps methods. The camp takes no responsibility for any avoidable, self-inflicted injuries or death, in the subjects while on it’s premises.”

Liam stopped reading, his eyes glancing over the last few lines for another few moments. A cold sensation travelled down his spine.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself. But he kept searching.

Googling the camp naturally brought up the camp’s main pages, and a few aggregate sites talking, or rather, gushing about it and other camps like it. But scrolling down, Liam started noticing a trend. More and more links led to people’s social media accounts, with headlines like “missing” and “have you seen our brother”. Liam clicked on one of these, and was brought to a social media post from some years ago, with a picture of a happy looking otter with a shark tooth necklace, and a wide smile on his muzzle.

“Have you seen our brother,” the post read. “Lance’s mom and dad decided to send him to Clarence Spring Rapids Camp, a notorious conversion camp in Oregon. He’s been missing since then. The camp management says he ran away, but nobody’s heard or seen him since then. We have our hopes up, but we fear the worst. If anyone sees him, he’s five foot five, his coat is probably slightly longer than depicted, and he has his necklace on.” There’s a close up picture of the necklace in question, for the benefit of the reader. “He’ll be eighteen in March, and my siblings and I had been working on getting him out of our parent’s abusive household. But they sent him off. We’re helpless, and we beg everyone to spread the news. We miss you, Lance.”

The post had several hundred replies. Mostly well wishes, but none of them had seen this Lance person. Liam knew, because he read through them all, feeling a lump in his throat. The post was several years old.

Several other social media posts seemed to concern the same issue. A younger sibling, or a friend, or a loved one taken to this, or similar camps. Then all signs of them ceased. Every single one of the authors of said posts had reached out to camp management, and it seemed like everyone had received the same response. Their loved one had run away, and the camp could not locate them on their premises.

In one case, the camp had apparently sent out a search party, but what had become of them, or the missing kid was never mentioned.

Liam drew a shaky breath. Now more than ever, he wanted a smoke. A long drag on something fiercely strong and mind numbing, so that he didn’t have to go around worrying.

When he called Cindy that afternoon to report what he’d found at Cally’s work, he got the response he was dreading.

“Cally’s not been here all day. I’ve tried to call him like fifteen times. Ced’s tried to call him. Heck, even dad tried to call him. We can’t get through. I’m really worried, Liam.”

“So am I,” Liam muttered, while poking at his keyboard with a paw. He tapped in the details of his credit card in the flight booker’s online storefront. “But I think I know where he’s gone. I’ll be going after him.”

“Where?” Cindy asked. “You think he’s gone out of the city?”

“Yeah,” Liam confirmed. “Far out.”

He debated if he should tell Cindy everything he knew. Because these secrets were Cally’s. They lay deep and meant a lot. But secrets and lies had not helped Cally. It had not helped his poor siblings. Liam could only imagine what it might look like with old pictures of Cally plastered up on some social media post, calling for aid, for anyone who could save him. No. They’d been through that once, already. The truth had to come out, even if Cally would hate him for the rest of his life. It would be worth it.

“Cindy.” Liam said slowly. “I think I should come over. There’s something you have to know about your brother.”

Cindy and Ced’s house was about as run down inside as it was outside. Apparently, their father wasn’t at home, for which Liam was grateful.

Cindy had furnished him with a cold beer from a fridge which squeaked whenever its motor fired up. But it only mildly distracted Liam from Cindy’s worried look, and Ced’s worried, and somewhat starstruck look as well. Gathered in what passed for a living room, and front room, he explained to them all that he’d learned about Cally the last few weeks. From where Cally worked, to what Cally’s colleagues had told him. It almost went so far that he told them what Cally and he had shared. But it wasn’t crucial to the story, and more pertinently, it was not what Cindy or Ced would’ve wanted to hear.

“So you think he’s gone to the states?” Ced said. “To find this Joel person?”

Liam nodded. “I think it has something to do with this weird ass camp I found online. Cally mentioned it in writing. It’s some sort of conversion therapy thing.”

Cindy shook her head in disbelief. “Why the hell didn’t he tell us?”

“We’d have understood,” Ced supplied. “Did he say why he kept all this secret?”

“I haven’t asked him,” Liam admitted. “I had to find out all of this on my own. I’m not sure what to tell him if I do find him. Probably, it’ll be the end of our friendship, but I don’t care.”

Cindy sighed, got up and paced the room uneasily. Futilely, she tapped on her phone and put it to her ears for a moment. When her ears fell down, she clicked the screen lock back, and tossed the phone into the sofa. “He’s only been gone for a few days, I think.” She said. “How long is one of those US flights, anyways?”

“About fifteen or sixteen hours I think,” Liam said. “I checked today’s flights. If he got on the one I think he did, he’ll be landing at midnight, our time. A few hours away.”

“Dad’ll be home before that. He’s going to ask.” Ced had a warning tone to his voice. “What do we tell him?”

“Nothing,” Cindy said. “He’s still not forgiven Cally for disappearing all those years ago, without a word. He’ll not take this any better. We’ll just have to come up with an excuse.”

“Why?” Liam asked.

“Cally was supposed to get groceries this week,” Cindy said. “Don’t worry about it, Liam. We’ll take care of that. But... I’m not sure what to tell dad.”

“I can talk to-“

“erh, no,” Ced said quickly, splaying his ears. “Don’t tell him any of that. Just be glad if he stays out of it. Cally never was his favourite, to put it like that.”

Liam’s expression stiffened, but he nodded. This world sure was cruel to some more than others. If ever there was a better subject to base his last album on, it would have to be that poor, tragic mixer. It would have to be. Cally would have to help him tell that story. It’d be good for him. But an album like that, his final album, would also require a hopeful ending.

“I’m going to go over there and find him.” Liam slapped his palm on his thigh. “If he doesn’t call back by this time tomorrow... I’m boarding a plane. Stay in touch.”

With that, Liam headed out, despite the two mixer’s protestations. He wouldn’t let himself be talked out of this.

As soon as he set his pen to paper, the words which needed to appear, did so. It wasn’t lyrics he wrote. It was an account of all he knew from Cally’s life. He embellished, he fantasized, he romanticized. And then he cracked it all open, to expose the raw core of it all. On paper, everything made sense in a different way. As the words flowed, so did the drink. Clean water. And the text kept coming. It wouldn’t stop, until his wrist ached and his eyes could barely keep open. He needed to tell this story, to piece it together in an album. To abstract and make it work. Make it flow. He needed a theme. Something dark, something tasteful. He needed a sound. Something classical, and impactful, and properly good. Only the best was good enough for Cally. Only the best.

When he awoke, he had pen-ink all over his muzzle. The notepad he’d been writing on had been filled out, and stuffed with post-it notes.

Picking up his phone, he read the time. Five in the morning. By his maths, that’d make it noon in Los Angeles. Then it struck him. Almost unconsciously, he tapped out Cally’s number, and called. It didn’t go to voice mail. It didn’t inform him the number was disconnected.

“Liam...” the unsteady voice on the other end said. It gathered itself pretty quickly. “How are you today?”

“I’m fine...” Liam said slowly. “How are you?”

“Good... good.” Cally chuckled. “What’s up?”

“What do you mean, what’s up?” Liam shot right back.

“Well, you called.”

“The hell man, where are you?”

The line went silent for a while.

“I’m not sure why you’re asking... it’s... uh... it’s really early... isn’t it?”

“Cally...” Liam’s tone was unsteady too, but in a different way. “I know you’re not in Australia.”

“Shit,” came a whispered mutter from the other end. “Look. I told you, I’d call you when I wanted to talk again.”

“Your siblings are worried about you,” Liam shot back. “Where are you?”

“None of your business,” Cally muttered. “Tell them I’m fine. I don’t wanna bother them. I swear I am.”

“Is this about Joel?” Liam asked. “Is he missing?”

“Liam, shut the fuck up, alright?” Cally’s snarl was eerily audible. “I’ll give you one more chance. Stay the fuck out of this. J-Joel’s-“

“I can help, Cally.” Liam’s plea was more heartfelt than anything he’d ever begged for before. He clutched the phone to his ear, hoping the warmth from it would help against the chill in Cally’s voice.

“You can’t help? You don’t know about this shit. You’re not... you have no idea what you’re getting into.”

“Well, enlighten me.” Liam told him. “Does it have anything to do with...” Liam searched for his notes, before he found the name he was looking for, “Clarence Spring Rapids Camp?”

The silence which followed was one of the longest and most pregnant silences Liam had ever heard in a conversation. He took his phone from his ears, to check that the call was still connected. When Cally spoke again, his defiance was gone.

“Don’t come. I need to do this. Alone.”

Then the line clicked.

***

This time the flight felt exactly as long as it was. He was seated by himself in the business class section, and though it was nice and quiet, he couldn’t get any shut eye. The way Cally had said those words, the way his pain had shone through... Liam had to stop him from doing something drastic. Or help him.

The second he got off the plane, he was on the phone to Mike. This was definitely not a job he could do alone. He wished Cally had the same mental process. If Cally had had his life experience, he’d know. The lone wolf act got real old real quick and it never made things better.

“Liam,” the familiar voice said on the other end. “How can I help you today.”

“You’re at your office, right?” Liam said, succinctly, with an urgency to his voice which took the lawyer off guard

“I-eh.. yeeeeaah?”

“Great. Keep your office empty for the next hour. I’m coming by.”

Liam hung up before he could hear any responses. Passport control went well, as he ran into a rent-a-cop which was apparently a fan. A quick autograph later, he was hurried to the front of the line, ushered through with minimal fuss, and all but shoved out on the other side. He’d almost forgotten how good life was when you were famous. But not entirely. He was supposed to be gone, so he couldn’t waste time letting people recognize him.

A cab ride later, he stood in Mike’s office, panting profusely.

“Jesus,” the lawyer said, emerging from a side door. “You look a mess. And what the hell are you doing here? So much for running away, eh?”

“I need your help.” Liam panted some more, grabbing at a nearby water cooler to steady himself. “There’s a friend of mine, I gotta find him. Do you have a car?”

“Hold up, hold up.” Mike seated himself on his desk, casually leaning back with a cup of coffee in one paw. Liam filled a plastic cup of water, chugged it, filled another one and chugged that too.

“You’ve gone all Christian on me?” Mike’s toothy smile flickered for a moment, but stiffened when the word sent a shock of uneasiness through Liam’s frame. “What’s the matter, my friend. You’re acting weird.”

“I’ll...” Liam grumbled. “I’ll have to explain as we go. It’s a fucking long story. But tell me. Do you have a car?”

“I’ve got my private-“

“Awesome,” Liam wiped his muzzle and made for the door. “Come with me, I need your help.”

“With you?” Mike asked, checking his watch. “It’s almost lunch.”

“I’ll pay you overtime,” Liam groaned, “Come on.”

“You’re... you’re worrying me, Liam.” Mike said. But eventually, he heaved himself off his desk, and strolled after the bull terrier. The pair made their way to the underground garage, where Mike took the lead, guiding them to a sleek sportscar with red leather interior.

“This is where the money you gave me went,” he said, in a clear attempt to try to lighten the mood.

Liam didn’t respond, just sat himself in the passenger seat, and gestured for Mike to take his place. While he started the car and navigated out onto the main road, Liam found the home page of the Clarence Spring Rapids camp. The once somewhat inviting header where joyous youths took part in an array of outdoor activities now only held dread and uneasiness to him. He’d created an image in his mind, formed from countless social media posts. Haunting pictures of cubs and young adults lost and never heard from again. There must have been dozens.

“Can you drive to this address?” Liam asked.

Mike looked at the phone Liam proffered, reading out slowly.

“Hillside drive... that’s a really long street number... wait... Oregon? I’m not licensed in Oregon.”

“I don’t need you as a lawyer, per say,” Liam admitted. “I need you as backup. There’s this... this guy I’m looking for.”

“You’re chasing a dude?” Mike asked. “What’d he do, like... steal something? If this is a criminal thing, we should notify the-“

“It’s not criminal...” Liam paused. “At least, I think not. Well. If there’s anything criminal going on here, it’s not the guy I’m chasing’s fault. That much I’m sure of. But listen. The address... it’s some kind of freaky mentalist brainwashing camp. I gotta go there, and find out something.”

“Something... right...” Mike was entirely unconvinced. But he kept driving as the GPS instructed. For hours and hours, the north Californian countryside passed by Liam’s windows. He tried to call Cally again, but this time, he only got to the voice mail. They drove until the sun went down, and only a few hours later, they were across state lines.

“Care to explain a little bit more?” he said, once they’d driven for an hour more. “You know.. attorney client privileges are still active. And I can tell this is weighing on you. I haven’t seen you this bothered since your first album dropped.”

Liam drew a deep breath.

“Well, I met this kid on the plane across, you know.”

The hours went as he explained himself, then explained why he’d done what he’d done. Mike had him explain again, quite a few details in fact.

“So you’re like... legit gay?”

“I don’t know,” Liam admitted. “Still like girls, I guess. But guys too... I guess.”

“You guess?” Mike asked. “Thought you guys were meant to know these things pretty confidently.”

“Oh, so it’s us guys now?” Liam asked testily. “Am I so different now that I was then?”

“Uh... yeah?” Mike asked in a typical valley girl impression, which he pulled out whenever he wanted to play dumb. “You like... totally give a shit now. Before you were all like. OMG care, lol. Now you’re flying across an ocean to do... what? Find some other dude’s boyfriend or whatever? Yeah, I’d say you’ve changed, Liam.”

“Well fucking get used to it,” he snapped. “This is fucking important, okay?”

“Okay, Jesus,” Mike said, shrugging. “I didn’t say it was a change for the worse, man.”

“Whatever,” Liam muttered. “This aint about me, anyways.”

“So what is this dude to you, anyways?” Mike asked after another pregnant silence. “Look, I’m all up to date with all the latest gender trenders, man. You can tell me.”

“I... eh... don’t know. I care about him, but... but not like that. Or maybe I do.” Liam sighed. “I gotta think about it some more. Maybe write about it. I just think he deserves better than he’s been getting. He’s like... a muse to me.”

“And you want to be the one who... what... provides for him?”

“I’ve got money,” Liam tells him. “I can spare some. And he needs money. He and his family. They’re like poor, they live in a fucking shack. His dad steals from his kids. It’s a shit situation. They all have to work shit jobs for shit pay, and I’m sitting on millions which I’ve made from kids like these. With real problems.”

“Kids like these...”

“Actually,” Liam clarified. “Especially kids like these. Troubled kids. Kids with lots of questions about themselves and their place in the world, who I’ve never spared a second thought for until now. Kids whose problems would make your ears fall off. Mike, these kids... gay kids, lesbians, trans kids, God, there’s so many different ones. They’ve fuckin’ struggled mate.”

“Mate,” Mike chuckled hollowly. “What, you’ve become some activist all the sudden.”

“I’m serious.” Liam splayed his ears. “They need to know that the fatheaded rapper they’ve listened to for the last eight years actually cares about them. I need to know that I care.”

“There are hundreds of queers in Hollywood. Some with more money and charity than you. Why you, exactly.”

“Hundreds of queers in Hollywood,” Liam echoed. “And yet... here we are. Heading to some sort of brainwashing camp in the neighbouring state. See all the good they do?”

Mike only shrugged, but left the subject be. As the views outside shifted from brownish green, dry forest to lush green as they left wine country altogether and turned inland. It was late at night when they came across a motel, where the pair checked into separate rooms and turned in for the night.

The morning after consisted of Mike’s grumbling about his shirt, his wife, and having to work on a Saturday, and Liam silently studying his map app, to find the likeliest way someone might escape from the camp. By bringing up satellite images, he could get an idea of just how remote the place was. Woods stretched for miles and miles in all directions, and through them ran a pretty wide river, from which the camp presumably got it’s name.

But as they pulled out onto the road that crisp morning, his concern was more on what he might find when he arrived. What would he ask them for. What would he say to them. He had a lawyer with him, who might be able to advise, but if everything came down to it, legally speaking, he was alone. Liam was not willing to give room in his considerations for violence; that’d be too easy. Just him and his weedy lawyer, against a bunch of religious nutcases, presumably. What if they were all cult’y?

“Mike?” Liam asked, slowly. “You’re not carrying by chance, are you?”

“Carrying?”

“Do you have a gun?”

“I plead the fifth,” Mike answered automatically. But he glanced to the glove compartment for a split second.

“No fucking way, man,” Liam said, almost daring to smile. “You are such a fucking cliché.”

“It’s a really expensive car, and I commute through LA,” Mike muttered, trying to deflect the conversation. “You remember the place yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Liam waved his excuses off. “I was hoping you had one, actually. Just in case.”

“Just in case...” Mike echoed, looking around at the decidedly more rural setting they were driving through. “Just in case... that guy up ahead is some kind of crazy axe murderer?”

“What guy?” Liam asked, turning towards the road.

“Check him out,” Mike said, with a smirk. “Looks like a scarecrow.”

He gestured to a walking figure, half a mile up the road, walking with his left arm sticking out, a raised thumb for all the passing cars to see.

“Wait a minute,” Liam said. “Mike.... Mike slow the car down.”

“What?”

“Stop... stop!”

They tore past the figure before Mike reacted, braking with the same fierceness as Liam’s command. Before the car had even come to a full halt, Liam was halfway out the door, stumbling out of the car. The figure stopped. Two sleep-deprived, green eyes looked back at him.

“Cally!” he called.

Cally looked up. His clothes were dirty with road grime, dirt and pine needles. His fur was dishevelled and unbrushed, and he had large bags under his eyes. On his shoulder, he carried a loose shoulder bag, and on his face, a shocked expression. Stiff legged, he backed away, before hesitating, then stopping. Slowly, like approaching a startled, injured animal, Liam drew closer. Behind him, he heard Mike’s door open and shut, but he didn’t take his eyes off the mixer.

“You look... like you’ve been through a lot,” He said slowly. “Why don’t you... come with me. I’ll help you do what you need to do.”

“You can’t help,” Cally stammered after a while. “You don’t even know what you’re helping with. That’s worse than just leaving me alone. So why don’t you just turn around and leave?”

“I can’t do that,” Liam said. “I just can’t. I would do that, if I knew that was what you needed. But I think you need help.”

“Pfft, what do you know?” Cally said. But his tone was definitely uncertain now. He was debating within himself.

“Look,” Liam said. “I’ve got a fairly decent guess already. Joel... He’s at this camp, isn’t he... or was.. and you want to find him.”

Cally hesitated, before he nodded. Then he swallowed. And just when Liam thought he was going to explain, he didn’t.

“Liam?” Mike asked, from some distance behind them. “You know this guy or something?”

“He’s the one I told you about,” Liam said. “We were damn lucky to come this way.” He lowered his voice so only Cally could hear him. “You were damn lucky, Cally. What were you thinking? Walking alone on this... this axe murderer road?”

Cally let out a puff which might almost be an attempt at a chuckle. “I’ve not seen any axe murderers yet. Unless you have one in that fancy ass car of yours. Who’s that, anyways. And what do you mean, I’m the guy you told him about? What did you tell him about me?”

“It’s my lawyer,” Liam said. “I told him everything. He’s under oath.”

“Everything?” Cally chuckled. “Everything what? Everything you think you know? Everything you guessed and stalked your way to?”

“Well you weren’t going to tell me,” Liam countered. “And Jesus Cally, open your fucking eyes for a moment. You dealing with your own issues, that’s fine and all. But when your friends... your family... see you hurting, and you can’t explain to them why... then what the fuck do you expect them to do. If you aren’t open with them, they’ll go digging for themselves. That’s going to lead to confusing situations like this.”

“I’m not hurting,” Cally muttered. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I don’t give a shit if I don’t understand. There’s lots of things I don’t understand. But this isn’t about me. It’s about you. If I’ve learned one thing in my line of business, it’s important to communicate your feelings. Truthfully, and wholly. If not to me, then who? Who is it you deem worthy enough to allow them to help you?”

“I can take care of my own problems,” Cally’s voice barely held up. “I’ve always done. You didn’t have to come here. You got your fuckin’ dick wet, and now you act like you’re some kind of saviour? I don’t want you... I want Joel.”

Liam threw out his paws. “I want you to have Joel, you fucking dense piece of shit. Just let me fucking help, okay? This is more important than your pride of whatever. Get in the car, we’re going to that camp, and we’re going to find Joel.”

Cally made an exasperated noise, but his ears lowered. Liam looked back to Mike, who leant on his car, his ears non-too subtly turned towards them.

Liam extended a paw. “Come on, man. We can fix this.”

The mixer hissed between his teeth, huffed and paced a few times. But eventually, he readjusted his shoulder bag, and headed past Liam towards the car. As he drew up to Mike, his ears splayed in a show of politeness.

With a nod, Mike let the mixer into his diminutive back steats, but not without a glance towards Cally’s ragged shoes, which had definitely seen better days. Cally’s show of polite submission was nothing compared to the embarrassed shame Liam felt. But Mike didn’t seem to think this was a remarkable encounter. As an attorney, likely as not, he’d seen worse. Liam hadn’t however. He’d never felt more confused, angry or conflicted. He wanted to smack Cally. He wanted to kiss and hold him. He wanted to yell at the mixer to stop being such an idiot. He wanted to know why. But as they set off again, the car’s interior was silent but for the quiet hip hop Mike played over the stereo, low enough not to be intrusive. Cally spent the time looking out of the window, but eventually, his eyes started drooping. In another moment, he was asleep.

It wasn’t before late in the evening before they turned off the main road, and onto a gravel path. The sound and shaking made Cally wake from his slumber, looking around. His eyes widened.

“We’re close,” he murmured. “Oh God. Oh fuck...”

“You alright there, dog?” Mike asked, before Liam could say anything. “Not travel sick or anything? Don’t want any vomit in the car, ya’ gotta tell me if you need a mo.’”

“No...” Cally’s voice was distant and weak. “We’re almost here. Shit, shit, shit. We’re actually...”

“well, what did you expect?” Liam snapped, but he caught himself before he could say anything more inappropriate.

“I’m not sure... I’m not sure I’m ready, Liam... Can we take a break?”

“There’s nowhere to stop here,” Liam responded, urging Mike on. “We’re almost there, as you said. Let’s just get this moving forward.”

Cally bit his lip, halting a no doubt passionate response. Through clearings in the forest, Liam could see traces of buildings on the other side of a dip in the terrain. Down the road, there was a one lane wooden bridge over a rapid creek. The road from this led under a overhead sign, made from heavy wooden beams, reading “Welcome to Clarence Spring Rapids summer camp.” And on a sign below, another which read “God bless all who enter here.”

Liam felt himself shudder, but that was nothing compared to what he caught in the rear-view mirror. Cally was visibly shaking now.

“Hey,” he said, turning in his seat so that he could look the mixer in his eyes. They were filled with fear. “Hey, Cally. You wanna wait in the car?”

“What are you going to do?”

“Talk to them,” Liam said. “Find out if they know anything.”

“That’s not going to work, trust me.” Cally said, an uneasy chuckle escaped his throat unwillingly. “But I know where to look, and who to look for.”

“And you’re absolutely, definitely sure he’s here?”

“This was the last place I knew where he was. After that... I don’t know.” Cally stilled, and looked down. “If he’s not here... There has to be some way for me to track him down. A clue, or someone who maybe remember him. I’ll come with you, Liam.”

Mike pulled the car up to a small parking lot near one of the larger buildings. All of them looked more or less the same, stacked timber with wood tile roofs. A sort of simulacra of what it might have looked like, long ago, when people probably used to live in the woods. Only these cabins were huge, and had power and running water, clearly. Liam checked his phone as he stepped out of the car. No signal. This place was in some sort of black spot. There was internet, but it was protected. Liam suspected the campers probably didn’t have access to it. He nodded towards Mike indicating his phone. His lawyer checked for the same, and found the same, apparently.

Cally stepped out of the car after Mike, his footsteps shaky as his knees quivered. He looked around, but nobody seemed to pay him any mind. A few people in similar looking clothes stopped to look at them, as Liam headed towards what he assumed was the administrative building.

Climbing the steps up to the door, Liam looked out across the areas of the camp. A few kids of different kinds of species wandered around on the grounds, all wearing the same light blue t-shirts. All wearing the same uneasy expressions, as if they expected something bad at any time. It set Liam off. This was worse than meeting the audience following a shit warm-up act.

Inside, Liam was met with an empty reception desk, on which a cutesy, plush beaver mascot with a light blue t-shirt greeted him. Behind it, Liam saw a porter’s bell, so he tapped it uneasily, just as Mike entered behind him with Cally in tow. The mixer remained in the background, out of the line of sight of the buck which entered from some back room.

“Greetings and welcome to Camp-“ The buck paused as he caught up with what he was looking at. Liam’s two-day old shirt and pair of Hawaiian shorts, which failed to cover up his tattooed arms and legs. Mike’s close cut, slightly wrinkly suit, and his hard, professional expression. And two brown ears carefully perked behind the two men.

“H-how may I help you?”

“We’re here to see... a guy by the name of Joel...”

“Joel?” The buck looked genuinely puzzled.

Cally whispered from behind them. “Kostecki. Joel Kostecki.”

“Kostecki,” Liam repeated, “You know the name?”

The buck’s professional smile froze for just a moment. “Are you his next of kin?”

The strange expression made Mike perk up. “Next of Kin? I fail to see how my client’s familial relationships account into this simple request. Is this person present at this camp?”

Mike’s response was instinctual, but Liam had heard something worthier of response. “So you know about him?”

“My question stands,” The buck said, more defensively this time. “Are you his family?”

“That is not what you asked,” Mike said quickly, before Liam could hold up a silencing paw.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve got his next of kin here. As much a kin as you’ll ever find, I think.”

“Splendid. I’ll need to talk to them, to verify their identity.”

Mike had already prepared a response, but Liam headed him off again, stepping aside so that the buck could see Cally.

When Cally met the bucks eyes, his ears lost their perk, and he shrank back, scared. The Buck’s eyes widened momentarily. He raised his muzzle imperiously, staring down the mixer from down the bridge of his nose.

“Calvin.”

“Mr... Orsted...” Cally swallowed, shutting his eyes fiercely. He started muttering something under his breath.

“So you’re the administrator?” Liam said with a slightly firmer tone. “He wants to see Joel.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible, sir.” Mr. Orsted said cooly. “Wait here. I’ll fetch a camp leader to retrieve Mr. Cooper here.”

“Like hell you will... sir,” Liam growled. He felt Mike’s paw on his shoulder, which caused him to back down again. His lawyer had always known how to keep him out of trouble.

“Mr. Orsted, if I may, what is it you plan to do with this... Mr. Cooper... if I may ask?”

“Why, there’s still a year left of his tenure here,” the buck responded, more cheerily. Mr. Kostecki’s guardians saw fit to pay for very expensive rehabilitation for both the young men, and it is our duty to accommodate those wishes.”

“Mike,” Liam growled.

“I’ve got this,” Mike said, slowly. “Hey, mixer. Cally, right? You’re legal right?”

“Yeah,” Cally whispered.

“I don’t see why-“ Mike started but the buck cut him off.

“Legal of age, not sound of mind. We have it all in writing. With his signature. Calvin here requires aid and guidance, or he might place himself in danger. It is for the best that he comes with us.”

“Cally, go back to the car,” Liam said steadily. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Cally swallowed, his tail tucked between his legs.

“Calvin,” Mr. Orsted said, commandingly. “Your old bunk is still where you left it. I think you know that you need to be here.”

The buck’s warm smile gained some bite, as a row of white teeth showed under his upper lip. “Joel made quite some progress after you left. I’m sure he will aid you in finding the right prayers that you see the light.”

“I... I should... I want to see him-“

“Cally, what the hell?” Liam turned to the mixer.

“Liam, I can see him again. He’s here.”

“Don’t let him talk you into anything,” Mike said warningly. “You do not have to do as he says. We still haven’t confirmed what he’s saying is true.”

Liam glanced over to the buck who still had his stiff expression ready, but clearly wasn’t a man of violence. “Don’t talk to him.”

“No, Liam, look,” Cally said weakly. “I’ll just see him for a moment, okay? I’m so close.”

“I’d advise against it,” Mike said, turning to Cally. “He has no contractual power over you, but he wants you to think he does.”

But Liam hadn’t the patience to get into details. This weird cultist guy held some sort of manipulative control over Cally, way more powerful than any law. With a roughness that surprised him, he grasped Cally’s arm, and pulled the mixer out of the office, before the buck could sink his claws into him.

On their way back to the car, Cally resisting weakly all the way, their path was blocked by two older looking kids with red vests over their light blue shirts. He walked straight at them, Cally in tow, until they parted. Heaving the mixer into the back seats, he seated himself in the passenger seat, and closed the door behind him.

His heart was beating, and not just from exertion. This was like some crazy backwoods movie. The Buck had known Cally. Cally had been here, he’d been interned, or whatever it was they called it, along with this Joel person. What had they done to him?

Liam looked across the parking space, where he could see Mike arguing with the buck. Glancing in the rear mirror, he saw Cally. Hunched over, his muzzle buried in his paws.

“Oh, God,” the mixer whined. “Oh, god I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It should’ve been me. I’m sorry. It should’ve been me, it should’ve been me, it should’ve-“

“Cally!” Liam said. “Snap out! Jesus, you’re safe here, okay. Nobody’s going anywhere. You’ll be coming back to Australia with me, or with Joel, or whatever. You’re not going back there.”

The mixer looked up, his eyes raw with pain and sadness.

“Liam, I’m... I’m not sure I can do this. I left him. I left him behind. I can’t. I can’t do this.”

“Do what?” Liam asked. “Get Joel out of there? We’ll find a way, man. We’ll work it out.”

“I can just go back there, and ride it out, and help him from the inside. They’ll have done some damage, but I can help him fix it. It’s only a little more. That was what I should’ve done. Joel is strong. Stronger than I was.” Cally sniffled, and drew a deep breath. “It was my idea to run away.”

“You ran?” Liam asked, perking his ears. He turned in his seat to meet the mixers eyes again. “Both of you?”

Cally nodded, all traces of defiance were as sucked out from him by this Mr. Orsted person. “It started way back. I was sixteen, and I was so ready to get out of my home. My siblings saved up and helped me pay for the passport and visa, and I travelled to him. I’d met him online, and he was the only one who understood me. It was all so exciting and... I let the excitement carry the moment. We met up, and it was perfect. And for a while, everything was bliss. He told his parents I was a friend who was going to study here. I got to live with them. I knew they were crazy but not like this. When his parents found out... They were like, super religious. I mean... they still are. They wanted to put Joel in that camp... But I couldn’t leave him. So I followed him.”

“They put you guys here,” Liam asked, “and Joel is still here. After you ran?”

“I went voluntarily, but after I signed that paper, they took my phone, and locked us all up. I wasn’t meant to be here. I wish I’d told... I wish I’d told just somebody where I went. But nobody knew Joel but me. He wanted me to keep our relationship a secret, so I did.” Cally choked up, struggling heroically to keep his voice clear. “I kept that secret damn safe. Meanwhile... They tried everything to cure us.” Cally shuddered again. His narrow frame seemed even more emaciated and slim than Liam remembered, as if the suffering had somehow stirred a physical memory in his body’s makeup.

“We both knew they couldn’t change us... but they could hurt us. They did hurt us. And Joel was stronger than I was. He said he could ride it out. He could pretend and act until they believed him, and once we got out, we’d be together again. I couldn’t. I couldn’t take it, and he saw. So I convinced him to run away with me. I knew a way out of this place, and Joel liked... he likes to look at stars.” Cally burst into sobs, briefly hiding his eyes in his paws. “Oh, Liam.... We figured we’d be safe if we could just get back to California. I was almost eighteen at that point. He was seventeen. I could get a job and keep us safe, if we could just get away. I’ve always taken care of my siblings. And I know how to avoid attention.”

“Well... you did, didn’t you?” Liam asked, trying to remember the hazy past few months, in which he’d met a young, idealistic-looking mixer in the business class lounge. “You must’ve made it quite good, to get on business class.”

Cally opened his muzzle, then shut it again. Then he sighed. “Alright. Calm. I’m calm.”

Liam looked around for Mike. But he couldn’t see his lawyer anywhere. For now, he couldn’t worry too much about that.

“I wasn’t planning on that. After we ran... nothing went to plan. We came upon a gorge... and when we went to cross it, Joel slipped and fell. I think he must have broken something. He told me to follow some star in the sky until I made it to the ocean, because I wasn’t strong enough to carry him. He was strong, and I wasn’t. I was going to get help... But even that didn’t go to plan. I didn’t know where I was. I spent days searching for a road, and when I found it, and got back to a town, I couldn’t find my way back to where he’d been. I later found out that the camp people had found him before me. By then, I was so close to freedom, that I had to grab it. I couldn’t go back. So I left him.”

Liam reached back to touch Cally on the shoulder. “He’s here somewhere. You didn’t leave him, really. We’ll get him out.”

“Ever since then, I’ve been strong for him. I’ve done everything I could to be strong. But it’s so hard, sometimes.”

“You don’t have to go at it alone,” Liam said softly.

Cally nodded, but not entirely convinced. He continued talking.

“I’m not sure I am now. But... I was strong enough to get a job, and some income. I managed to survive for myself, living paw to mouth at first. Until I was stronger. I started walking in the woods near where the camp was. Trying to figure out a way to get him out. Somehow, I managed to get in touch again. For one night, I found him out in the woods.” Cally drew a short breath. “They’d really hurt him, Liam. I gave him an old phone and told him to hide it away from the camp. Only turn it on when he had time. And only send me messages.” Liam nodded, considering how deeply traumatising it must have been for them both. This was not the sort of stuff normal teenagers got up to. Cally must have felt so alone.

“Joel and I... we kept in contact. But Joel had no shot at escaping, For a long time. His leg didn’t heal. I think they didn’t give him the proper medical care, either. Those bastards. I figured it was only a question of time before they’d discover me. You have to understand, Liam. I was terrified of them. Still am to this day. But back then, I didn’t act right. I saved all my money. Never told anyone what I did. I fucked and danced, and earned enough to keep me alive. But not enough for that ticket. But one guy I fucked worked in the airline, and promised me a business class instead of a payment. I had to take it. I was going back there to save Joel. That’s why I was in business class. Happy now?”

“I’m sorry, Cally,” Liam said slowly. But his memory was hazy. The smiling, confident dog he’d been sure he struck up a conversation with might very well have been a nervous, teetering dog on the edge of a mental break down.

“These people are crazy, Liam. They’re dangerous. I’m in the car with you now, and I’m not sure I’ll not be in that camp come evening. That’s the scary part. I can’t convince myself that leaving this place is the right thing to do.”

“And if we leave with Joel?” Liam asked. “Would it be right then?”

“I don’t know.” Cally whispered. “It’s not that simple. I don’t know what to say to him. I’ve not seen his muzzle for... for years. He stopped talking December, last year, and I don’t know why. Either he got discovered, or... he got away. Or he got out? What will I find when I find him?”

“You’ve lived all your grown life for this guy,” Liam said slowly. “You have to finish this. No matter what’s happened to him. You need closure.”

There was a sudden tap on the window. A curious skunk with wide, scared eyes met Liam’s. He looked around, before tapping again. The mixer looked up cautiously, but the tinted windows likely hid him from view. Liam pressed the button to open the window the skunk was getting his fingerprints on.

“Is it true?” the skunk asked. He had one of those light blue t-shirts on.

“Is what true?” Liam asked flicking his ears forward confrontationally.

“The brown dog...” The skunk leaned in. “Y-you...” his eyes shifted to Cally. “Is it true you... escaped?” he whispered the last word.

Cally nodded once, but didn’t open his muzzle.

“And... and the treatment... It doesn’t work, does it?”

“No.” Cally said, firmly. “It’ll never work.”

“Oh, thank God.” The skunk crossed himself. “I don’t want to change. I’m happy as God made me.”

“You’re perfect as God made you, man,” Liam added in helpfully, “If that matters to you at all.”

The skunk nodded. “Are you his... father?”

Liam flushed at the thought, while Cally cast a quick glance at him.

“Whatever, kid,” Liam said. “I consider him like family, I guess. In a weird way.”

Cally wrinkled his snout, but didn’t say anything.

“Lucky you,” the skunk muttered back at the dog in the back seat. “Mom and Dad sent me here a year ago. I don’t think I’ll ever go back there.”

“It gets better,” Liam said. He looked back at Cally, who was dejectedly staring at his two feet. Then he checked his phone. No signal. Nobody would know.

He knocked the passenger glove compartment with a knee, so that it opened in his lap. A bunch of papers fell out, some wrappers and tissue papers. And a shimmering, black painted pistol.

Was he not a G first and foremost? Did he not rage against the establishment, against the oppression of the weak, against the troubles caused by interfering parents and restrictive laws? If Cally wanted to see his boyfriend, Liam would make God damn sure he got to. He grasped the pistol in his fist.

“Cally, do you remember your way around this place?” Liam asked, his tone low and steady. “Do you know where Joel might stay?”

“I’ll never forget,” Cally mumbled softly.

“Then come. And stick with me, no matter what.”

Liam burst out from the door, wrenched the seat forward and pulled Cally out of the car too. The dog didn’t protest, and protested even less when he saw the pistol. But Liam kept the gun in his belt. Over his shirt, but away from his paws, as he walked with a determined stride towards one of the stacked timber buildings Cally indicated. If the door had been locked, it wouldn’t have stopped him, but it wasn’t even closed, so he strode straight inside.

The interior was a classic military layout, with a sink in one corner, and bunk beds arrayed along one wall. A small bookshelf, a table with placement for eight, and a little toilet was everything that told Liam that this wasn’t a prison cell. As he came to a stop in the middle of the floor, eight curious eyes met his own from various bunks and chairs around the room.

“Where’s Joel?” he asked them. Before anyone could reply, he turned to Cally. “Which one of them is Joel?”

“N-none of them.” Cally looked around. “Joel isn’t in here.”

“Well?” Liam turned to the frightened group of kids. They could hardly be more than eighteen, at the oldest. None of them had the age which indicated they’d been here for that long. But who could say how early they started pulling kids into these places. It was already obvious that these freaks operated on the edge of whatever was considered legal.

“Who’s Joel, sir?” one of them asked.

“None of you know a Joel?” Liam asked.

“Are you sure he’s still here.”

Cally shook his head, visibly distracted by the interior. He didn’t seem too bothered, so Liam proceeded with his inquiries. “Which one of you have been here the longest?”

A timid fox in the back reached up a paw. “Two years, sir.” His ears quivered, plastered to the back of his head among a brush of russet fur. “But I can’t remember... there’s been a couple of Joels.”

A thought went through Liam’s head, where it stayed. “Where do the missing kids go?”

The question had lingered in the back of his mind for the entire journey, but now he couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“The... The missing kids?”

“The ones who run away,” Liam said. “They run away, then they aren’t heard from again?”

The fox looked down. The room went entirely quiet. Even Cally’s ears perked, his eyes widening as realisation slowly dawned on him.

“n-no... Liam, no-”

“Where?”

The fox simply pointed behind them. Liam turned to find the Buck, Mr. Orsted, in the doorway, tailed by a furious looking Mike. Liam’s lawyer was angrily tapping his phone, but he too had no signal.

“Liam, we’re leaving. I have some calls to make.”

“No, Mike,” Liam said, turning to the buck. “You. Where do the missing kids go?”

“Why, they vanish,” Mr Orsted said with infuriating calmness. “If they chose to run from God’s light, then we cannot stop them. Once they have made that step, we all know there’s a low chance they’ll return to the fold.”

“Vanished?” Liam growled. “Where is Joel? Joel was here, he ran away, but you guys found him again.” He grasped at his pistol, ignored his friends’ warnings, and levelled it straight at the buck’s muzzle. “Take me to him, or so help me God, I will pull this fucking trigger.”

The buck’s smile froze, but his voice was as serene as ever. “I’m afraid... you can’t see him... per say.”

“Show me. Where. He. Is.” Liam bit off each word with his flecked teeth, squeezing the pistol handle so tight he felt as if he was going to break his thumb.

The buck sighed. “If you insist.”

Cally looked at them both, splayed ears. He laid a paw on Liam’s arm, but the bull terrier couldn’t calm down. He couldn’t separate this buck from them. They, who had promised him salvation for his next album, and peace after that. But nothing was ever good enough, and they never let him go, before he himself escaped. And even then, their claws were sunk deep. When he saw them, he saw Mr Orsted.

The group slowly walked away from the timbered buildings, up a small hill towards a chapel. A strangely traditional looking chapel, which looked out of place in this forest. A chapel with a graveyard.

That set Liam’s fur on edge. But before he could react, Cally had let out a soft gasp. “No. No, please no. No. Please. Please don’t say-“

Carved into black granite; a trace of a fox’s tail, a cross. And nothing else. Cally fell to his knees in front of the stone, all the energy left him at once.

“This stone marks the day we lost Joel.”

“I’m sorry,” Cally sobbed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-“

Liam couldn’t move to aid him. He felt frozen to the spot in white rage, as he read the headstone.

It was so insulting, so blasphemously wrong that he wanted to pull the trigger right then and there. Mike put a paw on Liam’s arm, and slowly pried the gun from his shaking grasp. Mr Orsted just stood there, with his blank expression, as if no crime had found place here.

“What the hell happened here?” Liam said in utter shock.

“I’ve got so much shit on this man,” Mike muttered. “As soon as we get somewhere with reception, I’m calling the DA. This is fucked up. We have to go. We have to go now.”

“You’d wait for me,” Cally whined to the headstone. “You told me you’d wait for me.”

“Mike, what the fuck did he tell you?” Liam asked, whispering so that Cally didn’t hear.

“He’s not said shit, man, but I saw the church from his office. Figured it was weird that it had a graveyard, didn’t you?”

“Not so weird now, is it?” Liam growled. “These people are sick. If I ever do anything, Mike. I want to burn this whole heap of shit to the ground.”

“I get ya, man,” Mike whispered back. “I agree. We’ll tear them apart in court. If you get Cally here on board, we’re looking at a class action. I’m talking hundreds of millions. Look at all these fucking graves, man! This is some kind of horror movie shit.”

“But how?” Liam asked. “Cally told me this Joel dude was like, pretty sturdy. Do you think they killed him?”

“Anyone can be driven to suicide, Liam,” Mike muttered.

“Hey, Hey, you,” Liam said to Mr Orsted. “You’ve notified this person’s parents, right? When did he die anyways?”

Cally’s head and torso was blocking the gravestone. Liam suspected even if they had reported to the parents, whatever pricks left their kid in such a place as this probably didn’t care if they lived or died.

“Joel left us a year ago,” Mr Orsted said without an ounce of remorse. “Lord have mercy on his memory.”

“Lord have mercy on you, rather,” Liam growled. He looked back to Cally, who had taken to staring blankly on the gravestone.

“A year?” He asked weakly.

“One year and two months, to be precise,” Mr Orsted confirmed. “Come now, Cally. You wouldn’t want your friend’s struggles to be in vain. If you come with us today, we can still save your spirit. Not all hope is lost.”

“One year and two months,” Cally muttered to himself. Then he blinked a few times. Liam was sure he was about to snap. He positioned himself between Mr Orsted and the mixer, for Cally’s own protection.

“His headstone...”

“Cally, I’m so sorry,” Liam said.

“His headstone says... says the date it’s not one year ago...” Cally swallowed. “It’s... five.”

“Hmm?” Mr. Orsted leant across to verify the date, which made Liam almost explode with rage.

“You don’t even know?” Liam barked. “You fucking monster. You fucking cub-killing, heartless-“

“Liam...” Cally said, his voice strained through a strange filter Liam hadn’t heard before. “This... this is the date we ran away.”

“Indeed,” Mr Orsted said, as deadpan as ever. “When you left us, your souls were ultimately doomed. In my eyes, this is the same as any death. It was quite tragic, many of your friends mourned your passing.”

“You’re fucking insane!” Liam said. He was so angry he wanted to hurt someone. “You put up gravestones to manipulate these kids into staying here?”

Cally’s distant expression fell. “You didn’t find him?”

“When you ran away,” Mr Orsted said, “We searched for you for days. We only found Joel, but he couldn’t furnish us with your location. Your own headstone is just over here, you see?”

The buck pointed at another black stone, with a thin tail twirled where Joels’ had a fox tail.

“Joel left us a little over a year ago, but his headstone was never altered. Maybe you can help save his soul still. You can help us find him, and bring him back to safety.”

“No...” Cally mumbled. Then he raised his voice, climbing slowly to his feet. “No. No no no. NO!” he cried, shouting it out for all the camp to hear. “You are THROUGH toying with my head!”

“If he’s not here, then...” Liam turned to Cally, “Cally You can find him. One year isn’t so long ago. There’s still a chance we can find him.”

Cally blinked a few times, then turned towards a part of the woods which was bathed in the orange glow of a head on sun. West. Towards the sea.

“Can you find the place... The place where you got separated last?” It was the only thing Liam could think to look for.

Cally nodded weakly. “Liam, I don’t know if this is a good idea. What if... What if I find him.”

“If we find him,” Liam said, “We’ll know. If we don’t. We’ll never know. Do you still want to carry on not knowing?”

“I’m scared, Liam,” Cally whined. “This is all so fucked up. What if we find...”

“We will find peace, or we will find nothing,” Liam said serenely. “This is when you have to be strong too, Cally. Because not being strong means bringing on more undue pain for the rest of your life. Trust me, this will be one of those chances you’ll take where you’ll be glad you did.”

“It’s a long way,” Cally said, drawing a deep breath.

“I don’t care,” Liam responded.

“We’ll need food.”

“We’ll find something to take with us,” Liam countered.

Cally looked back to Mike and Mr Orsted. The lawyer held his gun in an off hand, another one rubbing his brow. The buck had retreated to the background, seemingly confident in his own beliefs.

“I’ll take care of things here,” Mike said, “whatever happened here, it sure as shit aint legal.”

Liam reached out a paw, a friendly gesture. “Come on, Cally. Let’s get to the bottom of this shit, okay?”

Cally swallowed, and wiped his eyes with the crook of his arm. He looked to Mr Orsted one last time, before he followed the bull terrier away from the church.

The camp was thankfully well stocked with camping equipment, which Cally knew where to find. Liam took what he wanted because nobody were brave enough to stop him, and he was well past the point of caring about the consequences.

He’d not been hiking since he was ten, but he found strength in following the mixer’s footsteps through the forest. With each step, his trepidation grew. He’d seen corpses before. But never someone who might have been dead for months.

It took the better part of a day to reach, but after a long pause, Cally concluded that he recognized the area. Joel and he had parted here. By that time, Liam had worn out his white kicks to the point of throwing them out altogether, and discarded his shirt in favour of the cool shade the forest threw over them.

“I can’t smell anything off,” Liam said. “But then again, I’m not the one to ask. Are we far away?”

Cally, who had been silently sniffing around for the last half hour, shook his head.

“I don’t think so. Some things have changed, I’m trying to see how things might have looked that long ago. But it’s so hard with all this...”

He paused, as he reached a small ravine, probably fifteen feet deep. Cautiously, he fumbled for an outstretched branch, and seated himself carefully on it’s edge. Liam had already guessed.

“This is the place?” he asked. At the bottom of the ravine, there was a thicket of brambles, full of stinging branches and nettles. “You went down there, and Joel hurt himself?”

Cally nodded, and Liam shook his head in disbelief.

“Man, things gotta have been pretty shitty for that to be a better option.”

“They were,” Cally sighed. “But I’d go back again. I’d go back and live a million years there, if I could just hear from Joel again. Just see his smile again. That red and white coat.” Cally sniffed. “How did I ever think I was strong for leaving him? I should’ve stayed.”

“Hey, come on, man. If you’d stayed... you’d never have met me.” Liam splayed his ears. “Oh, wait. Look, Cally. I’m really sorry that I acted like I did. If I’d known... I’m really sorry. But if you’d never left, you’d never even have a chance to go back and set things right.”

“Joel would’ve understood.” Cally sighed and leaned forward on his knees, looking across the nameless gulley beyond the ridge he sat on. “He knew I had a thing for stripping long before I was legally allowed to. He never told me that it was wrong. He encouraged me every day. Because he saw how much it meant to me. When you encouraged me, Liam.. You reminded me of him, for a split second. And I had a lapse of judgement. I just wanted to see if it’d feel right... and it didn’t. For which I blamed you. I’m sorry, too.”

“let’s let bygones be bygones.” Liam patted Cally’s shoulder. “Are you ready to head down there?”

“Only if you’ll come with me, Liam,” Cally said. “And if... if this is it. Then... I want you to know. I’ll never forget you.”

“Come on,” Liam said. “It’s not the end. It’s never the end.” He helped Cally to his feet, and unpacked one of the climbing ropes he’d taken from the camp for just this occasion. Letting Cally tie it to the nearest tree, he tested its strength with a sharp yank. He’d seen too many dumb action movies where climbing grade ropes had come undone or ripped simply from being pointed at by a camera. No need to take any undue chances.

Cally went first, his dancer’s strength and his camp experience saw him safely down to the bottom with so little fuss it almost looked too easy. But when Liam’s turn came, he overestimated his upper body strength. He felt the rope slip through his fingers while he was still halfway down, sawing painfully into his paw pads. With a choked cry, he kicked off the wall. If he couldn’t save himself, he could at least land in the comparatively soft brambles. Which he did. Then instantly regretted it. The brambles dug painfully into his everywhere with long, sharp needles. Cally gasped, but as he came closer, he let out a chuckle.

“Jesus, Liam,” he said, with a relieved tone in his voice. “Don’t scare me like that, you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly intend to-“

“That was exactly how Joel had fallen, too. But those bushes hadn’t been there then.”

“Thank God they were here now,” Liam grumbled, as he slowly picked his way out of them. Blackberries, raspberries, and he swore he picked up the scent of other berries well.

“Maybe he spilled some of that trail mix here, or whatever?” Liam asked, a seemingly innocent question. But as he climbed out, he noticed Cally on his paws and knees right up to the base of the brambles. Sniffing.

“When we first ran away...” Cally mused. "I think this is the spot where we got separated... Y-yeah.

“So these bushes could be from that?”

“Hmm,” Cally said softly. “I swear this was a dried up river bed when we were here last.”

Cally got to his knees, and reached a paw under the brambles, near their roots. His eyes went wide. From under the bushes, he pulled out a metal box with the camp logo on it. It was the same pale blue that their t-shirts were all coloured.

“That’s his.” Cally said, sniffing. He scratched at some of the dirt on the lid, at a half faded word in black marker. “Definitely.”

“But the rest of him?”

“Not here,” Cally confirmed. “He left this here... Knowing that I’d come looking for him.“

"But why?"

"He knew me," Cally sighed. "He knew I'm the kind of guy to retrace my steps. I'm the kind of guy who tries to figure out where things went wrong. So he left this here..."

Cally fiddled with the box, until the lid popped off. On the inside of the lid, where Liam was prepared to smell year old sandwiches, but the box was empty. However, a mass of black marker writing covered the back of the lid.

Cally’s ears perked.

“His handwriting!” the mixer cried. “That’s his handwriting...”

“Well, what does it say?” Liam asked, his tail batting again for the first time in longer than he could remember. Cally read the words carefully in the scant light that was left to them. Then the mixers knees went out from under him, and he plumped down on the ground next to the brambles. He looked up to the stars, his eyes glittering with tears.

Liam looked over Cally’s shoulder, to read what the lid said.

They’d left Mike behind in California, and headed north. To a city Cally had only visited once, many years ago. Cally had barely managed to get back from the hike. He was still a mess, emotionally. After they’d rendezvoused with Mike back at the camp, he’d taken them back to California, to his own house. They’d stayed there for a day. The bare minimum for Cally to get enough energy back to find his feet again.

The short drive to the bay area was nothing compared to the miles Liam had covered, but out of all the journeys he’d taken, it definitely felt the longest. He didn’t doubt for a second that he wanted Cally to find his Joel. But it was melancholic too. It was the end of a long chapter in the mixer’s life. The only Chapter Liam had any rights to be part in. After this, things would change. Cally might never be the same mixer Liam knew. He might stop dancing for money, in favour of whatever Joel preferred. Perhaps they’d never see each other again?

Cally, on the other hand, had fidgeted the whole trip, his tail anxiously swaying from side to side, curling and straightening, until Liam suspected he’d worn it out. He’d barely spoken, clutching the lid of the recovered tin as if it was the only picture of his loved one remaining to him.

They pulled into a parking lot belonging to a mall somewhere in the north side of town. Liam put his sunglasses on, and stepped out of the borrowed car, before opening the door for Cally. The mixer had freshened up with new clothes, but had still made sure to keep as much of his features on display as he could.

“It's been years... Do you think he'll recognize me?”

“Will you? Do you at least know what he looks like, right?”

“Red fox, same age as me. I’ll recognize his black marks from the moon, for how long I’ve looked at our pictures together.”

“You brought any of those pictures?”

Cally nodded, and pulled out a few worn photographs, folded and faded. And true enough, there they were. Two young guys, embracing, smiling, holding paws, and doing what lovers do. It felt good to see Cally in those pictures. It reaffirmed things. Liam could see the worth in the chase, and the pain of the separation, just from how much joy was apparent.

“I never thought to check this place out after we got separated. This mall was where we shared our first kiss, but I thought...." Cally seemed to zone out for a while, then his ears perked as they went past one of the mall maps. "They still have that old ice cream place here. It’s to die for, Liam. We gotta go there first.”

“Let’s see what we can find out, then,” Liam said, gesturing for Cally to lead the way. The mixer took him into a nice, airconditioned foyer where several shops fronted on a fountain. Cally looked around, and found the path through to the other side, where a wide walkway took them past countless smaller shops. They emerged into an open area, where several stories opened into a large atrium, filled with plants and people.

“After we got separated, I thougth I tried everything. I knew he'd be hiding from his parents, and his phone number disconnected a few months after that. And his name didn't come up anywhere, so I had no idea how to find him... If I'd only dared to go back... Things could have been different. Not it might be too late.” Cally gestured to the malls spacious atrium as the pair approached the food court. “ I’m a small town kid, you know. Never been to such a large place before. No idea how to deal with such large crowds. No idea how to find anyone.” He turned to Liam briefly. "I tried everything I could... Everything"

"I know you did, Cally," Liam said, warily.

The mixer took Liam by the paw and led him around to an escalator, and up to the second floor. Liam could feel the trembling. His hands were clammy, and his grip was fierce.

Liam took a table in the food court that connected to the ice cream shop. He kept an eye on Cally, while scanning the food court for any potential fans coming his way. Nobody seemed to have clocked him yet. From where he sat, there was a large plant obscuring his view, so he only saw Cally’s ears and tail. But he felt every step that mixer took towards the ice cream stand, as if something was up. A premonition, perhaps? His body trying to tell him something? What if Cally never found that fox of his? What if this chapter didn’t end so well?

Liam kept an eye on that tail. It swayed slowly, nervously, unevenly. If Cally met with another tragedy here, now... that dog wouldn’t recover. Liam had seen people fall from that kind of height before. It wasn’t something he expected anyone in Hollywood to survive, even with a safety net of money and mind-altering drugs. Cally? He’d destroy himself. And Liam would have to witness it, and be unable to help. If that were to happen... Cally was his muse. Liam's inspiration danced to the tune of the mixers’ beat, that was for sure. When Cally had tried to distance himself, Liam had felt lost. And when Cally had found hope, down the bottom of that gully, Liam had, too. And right here and now, Liam felt like he stood astride a fault, ready to be torn apart at any moment.

Then he noticed a change in the mixer.

He saw Cally’s ears go perk, then flop down. Tail stiffened. Jaw clenching. The fur on the nape of his neck raised. Was he having some sort of panic attack? Was he threathened?

Liam got to his feet, just in time to see a red fox behind the counter of the shop. He didn't look similar enough to the fox on the pictures; a stranger who Cally, in his aggitated state, must have confused with Joel. But in a heartbeat, the fox had climbed out of his booth, and gotten down to his knees beside the now sobbing heap of dog. Liam paused.

He heard Cally’s howling sob, quickly muffled by the fox’s uniform. And as Liam got closer yet, he didn't need any photos to compare to, to understand.

After what must have been a solid ten minutes, Cally managed to tear himself away from the fox for a moment, casting a glance towards Liam. They'd gathered something of a crowd, but for the first time in a long while, Liam didn't resent being in the middle of it all. Those shining green eyes never looked happier. Cally had always suited his smile. Despite the ruffled fur, the bags under his eyes, the shabby and worn sneakers, Cally looked great. If he could’ve captured them on a photo, they’d have been his album cover.

Liam privately mourned for the Cally he thought he’d known, who died in that fox’s arms as he watched. A boy he would never have, a soul he'd never understood fully. Liam had loved a painting, and it was as if he saw the subject for the first time. He raised his paw to the dog who eventually found his feet in front of that icecream stand. A completed puzzle of a dog.

What remained for Liam was the merciless, hard truth. But what a journey that was.

A lump gathered, and he felt the years catch up to him, one day after the other. He sat down on a nearby chair heavily, staring at the pair as they clutched each other close and exchanged whispers. People at the surrounding tables had started to stare at them. And at Liam. Cally didn’t care. Oh, to be so absorbed in someone, and feel that passion returned. Liam’s gut twisted. Letting Cally go was the hardest thing he’d ever do. Bittersweet. It was the only outcome he could’ve accepted, and still it hurt.

As tears beaded in his eyes, he thought of all the things he’d lost by living his lie. The dead ends. The choices he’d made. The walls, barriers he’d built so that things like this couldn’t happen to him. He’d stolen this passion from himself, to sell it for money. And now it hit him as if he was fifteen, and in love for the first time. He thought about the songs he’d written. Elaborate, like his own path to enlightenment. His call for help. Unheard by them, no matter how loud he spoke. He’d been alone with his emotions. He’d not understood his own mind.

But his words had been picked up by other ears. In their hundreds and their thousands. Millions of ears of every creed and race, trained to hear the faintest voices. Just like his. They heard him. They saw. They found strength in what he’d told them, just as he had found strength in them.

Never again would his meaning go unheard. Never again would he hide, and have his songs speak for him. He would speak with his own voice, ragged and worn out as it was. He’d call, and shout and scream until his voice gave out. This is me, he’d say. This is who I was. This is what I became. This is what I learned. This time, the album wouldn’t just be a story for someone to maybe find themselves in. It would be his story. It would be Cally’s story. It would be the story of Joel, and of Ash, and Alex and her café, and even Cindy and Ced, and of everyone who stood in their way. It would be the story of loss, and longing, and pain and suffering, and it would be written for them. For the people who had changed his life, to whom he’d lend his voice till he drew his final breath. Liam Connor would be no longer. That dog would live and die in the music. And what remained would be the truth, and nothing but the truth.

His album would be his confession, eulogy, and his baptism as a different dog, before he’d walk off stage for good.

He even knew what he’d call it.

The End of Liam Connor