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Robert was beginning to wonder if this had been quite such a good idea. He'd only been up two hours and already things were assuming a distinctly pear-like shape. He'd decided to make an early start, in hopes of minimising the time and the potential stress involved. It all started well: up at seven on the dot, he'd downed a decent breakfast, squeezed into his black and grey leathers, and assured himself his luggage was properly packed into his bike's twin saddlebags. Then a lingering goodbye hug and kiss for his mother and tearful little sister, a firm shake of the paws with his stoic father, one final check that his prized electric guitar was as tightly strapped to his back as possible, and he was on his way.

The ensuing journey, in contrast, usually a frustrating and drawn-out affair, managed to be truly horrific today, every light of the dozens on his route turning red the moment they caught sight of him, every traffic jam conspiring to hold him up twice as long as normal, every junction being twice as solid with unmoving traffic, and no fewer than five terminally blinkered commuters cutting him up. A full hour after he'd left home, and fuming fit to burn his bike helmet clean off, he finally reached his ultimate destination, his base for the next year of University - Brixton Hall.

The Hall was immense - a five storey red-brick slab of a building with no concession at all to curves. It had to be close to 500 feet long and half as deep, the bricks dirty and discoloured, the regimented windows layered in so much dust and grime the ground floor ones often sported crude messages etched into the surface with a finger. For a few seconds Robert felt an urge to scrawl "clean me" on one of them, then reasoned no-one would take any notice anyway, and besides, about a dozen people had beaten him to it, though less than half spelt 'clean' correctly and more than one got 'me' wrong.

The sight of the Hall in all its grimy glory was the first blow to his spirits - some friends had repeatedly assured him it was one of the best halls of residence attached to the university. He wondered, with gently morbid fascination, what the worst must be like. Shrugging the thoughts off he pushed through the cracked wooden doors that served as an entrance, determined to give the place the benefit of the doubt.

Those friends had also told Robert that Brixton Hall was a hive of activity, even this early in the morning, and as friendly and welcoming a place as you could imagine. As he surveyed the dusty hallway, with its impressive population of bloated and lazy spiders and complete lack of any actual residents, he began to wonder about their motives. It seemed the denizens of the building cleaved closely to the grand student tradition of sleeping in until the last possible moment; this included the three he spotted as he made his way along the corridor.

They looked like they'd been rudely tipped from their coffins, half of them insistent on getting right back to the near-death state unique to students, the other half determined to proceed with the morning routine even if it killed them. These dozing zombies barely registered the affable lupine's existence as they dragged themselves past, fur or hair unkempt, eyes squinting at the slightest hint of light and blank expressions indicating a total lack of cranial activity. One was so far gone his pale jeans were on backwards, a sartorial slip-up to which he remained completely oblivious. The couple of residents that were awake differed little from those who weren't, in that the sleepwalkers were generally a lot more polite. He hoped his room mate was a tad livelier. In fact, lively, period.

The next irritation was finding, on reaching the end of the passage, Brixton Hall was devoid of lifts, leaving Robert no choice but to lug his baggage up no less than four flights of criminally steep concrete stairs. At least, he repeatedly reassured himself, he'd have time to rest before rugby practice at ten.

It was halfway up the final steps that the heftiest blow to his good mood occurred. It came in the form of a tall, imposing tiger wearing black jeans and armless t-shirt a size or two too small for him, ensuring his not inconsiderable musculature was just that bit more prominent, a black bandana with a repeating skull motif, and a cross-shaped earring. Robert knew him all too well - Tyrone was another rugby player; the team captain, in fact.

He'd transferred from the US, for reasons only he and the university records knew. A talented American football player at his original uni, he'd taken to rugby like the proverbial duck to water, attaining the coveted white armband in record time, though not entirely through talent - his firm penchant for casual cruelty helped, too. Every single member of the team had experienced it to one degree or another, as had most of the more intellectual and socially awkward students on the campus.

This apparently irresistible urge to hurt people seemed to come upon him at entirely random moments, this morning naturally being one of them, thus the way he none-too-subtly veered to barge Robert as he passed, jolting the guitar and knocking one of the saddlebags free of the wolf's hand, then helped the latter on its violent descent with a couple of well-placed kicks. Tyrone even contrived to stand on the bag as it came to rest in the corridor, not even breaking stride. Then he disappeared down the next steps without a glance back.

Robert stifled a curse, massaged his throbbing shoulder, then turned to recover his bag. Fortunately it only contained clothes; even more fortunately his guitar remained firmly fixed to his back. Once he'd reclaimed his luggage the wolf resumed his climb, eventually ending up where he was now - outside dorm number 96, the very last one on the floor. Some wag had removed the metal numerals and reversed them, as well as etched a particularly crude image right beneath them. Robert rolled his eyes at the inanity of it as he fumbled in a pocket for his key. He found it precisely one second before the door opened.

A short, slim cheetah in a blue and white tracksuit with matching trainers and with a small bag dangling from one paw gazed nervously up at him, visibly unsettled by the sudden appearance of a six foot wolf in biking leathers outside his door. When he didn't make any move to speak, Robert decided to break the ice.

"Thomas, right?" He held out a hand. "I'm Robert."

"A...a pleasure," the cheetah stammered, giving the wolf's paw a short, uneasy shake. "I'd stay to chat, but I have football practice shortly. If you'll excuse me..."

"Of course." Robert stood aside, watching with quiet interest as Thomas padded lightly down the corridor. Then he entered the dorm.

He found two beds, one either side of the door, two corresponding chests of drawers, and two small sunken wardrobes. Twin desks faced each other at the far side of the room, complete with small adjustable lights, a tower case computer and a stack of related textbooks sitting on the right-hand one. A pristine mid-range keyboard rested on a stand to the right of the door. The dark blue carpet was worn but serviceable, as were the bland, faded curtains dangling either side of the one window.

A small door briefly interrupted the whitewashed monotony of the left-hand wall. Robert dropped his luggage on the bed he guessed to be his then opened the door. The room beyond was about ten feet long and two feet wide, and yet, in classic TARDIS style, managed to contain washstand, toilet and shower. He couldn't spot any towels, soap, brushes or shampoo, though. Either the cheetah never washed, he mused, wryly, or he kept his grooming gear elsewhere.

Robert's mind mulled over his timid new roommate as he wriggled out of his leathers and set to unpacking. Thomas, it seemed, was the kind of person who engendered a lot of rumours, particularly among the humans. He'd been pegged down as anything from deviant to a complete basket-case. Rob paid little mind, wise enough not to put faith in idle whispers. Already several had been disproved, and no doubt more would be.

The only ones worthy of even the slightest consideration were those hinting about the cheetah's preferences. If at all true then life sharing accommodations could prove interesting, though probably not for a while; a more timid character he'd never met. He'd actually seemed a little afraid of the wolf. He might have to work to gain his friendship, Robert realised, though that handsome keyboard could well be helpful in that respect.

He placed his toiletries in the topmost drawer of the chest, then strolled across to the window. Aptly enough, the sports fields could be seen quite close to the hall. A rugby pitch was nearest, with a football pitch beyond, and a solid running track to the right of both, space for field events marked out inside it. A large number of figures punted balls around the football ground, half wearing blue and half red, and one of the former group looked oddly familiar. Robert rummaged in saddlebag number two, grabbed his small binoculars, usually used for watching the games at the modest rugby stadium behind his home, and trained them on the pitch.

It was indeed Thomas, the cheetah exchanging deft passes with a lean raccoon. At the pudgy badger coach's call everyone fanned out, assuming their given positions; in Tom's case that lay on the left side of midfield in a 4-4-2 formation. Scanning over the rest of the players, Rob noticed the rangy coyote right back of the opposing practice team - also arranged in a 4-4-2 - was staring at the pint-sized feline in a curious mix of anxiety and determination - interesting.

Exactly why became very apparent very quickly. Red Team mounted the first attack right from the kick-off, sustaining pressure on the blue penalty area for a good three minutes, yet not ever getting a decent shot on target, repeatedly thwarted by determined if not exactly disciplined defending by most of those in blue, including Tom. When they finally did, in the form of an arrow straight and more than a little optimistic snap shot by a ferret (proceeded by enough step-overs and feints to make anyone dizzy just watching) from just outside the D, it was neatly snatched from the air by the blue keeper, who wasted no time in bowling the ball out over-arm to the blue left-back, already moving up the flank with no little speed.

He in turn knocked it a little hastily - being aggressively harried by a red midfielder as he was - forwards towards Tom, who once he had it under control took off downfield at a mightily impressive pace, quickly outdistancing most of the other players, excepting a pair of the red defenders who'd hung back in case of such a situation and the raccoon he'd been practising with earlier.

One focused on the striker, the other - the coyote - closed him down, doing his utmost to block off any crosses and generally stall until backup arrived. Tom, despite all his attempts at feinting and dodging, was forced closer and closer to the touchline by the impressively tenacious right-back. Aware he was within seconds of being crowded out by the arrival of two other defenders, Tom feinted one more time and tore for the line.

Just before the ball ran out of play he swung his right foot sharply, managing to send it arcing in the general direction of the penalty area, then lost his balance while trying to scrabble to a halt and tumbled heavily onto the grass. A second later the coyote fell on top of him.

Both lifted their heads in time to see the raccoon leap and head the ball powerfully toward the bottom right corner of the goal, drawing an acrobatic (a tad more acrobatic than it needed to be, truth be told) lunge from the red-haired human goalie to touch it round the post for a corner kick.

The coon shook his head ruefully, then flashed a thumbs-up at Tom, now on his feet and, to Robert's mild surprise, hugging the coyote warmly, murmuring something that seemed congratulatory in his ear. Either it's a friend he's trying to help improve, the wolf surmised, or a team-mate the coach tasked him to help improve. All right, throwing the guy up against a player as quick and agile as Tom wasn't exactly the gentlest method available, but it really looked to have worked.

Robert's watch beeped, snapping him out of his thoughts. Twenty minutes before rugby practice. Bringing out his kit, Robert peeled off his shirt; he liked to get there early, to avoid bumping into Tyrone before they reached the field.

Ten minutes later he jogged smoothly onto the pitch, a ball pinned under one arm. He moved to within 30 feet of an H-bar and dug a dent in the turf with his boot. Planting the ball in the depression he stepped back a few paces, sized up the task before him, then ran forward. A swift kick and the ball sailed high, arcing neatly over the horizontal, right between the uprights.

Robert allowed himself a satisfied grin, then found himself distracted by gentle applause. He twisted round to see the cheetah standing on the boundary line, having been withdrawn from the game for the second half while a different formation was tried.

The wolf jogged over. "Don't applaud that. Just a basic conversion. Nothing special."

"I couldn't do that if a tried a hundred times," Thomas replied, his manner much brighter than when they first met.

"But you can set defences to trembling at the sight of you. THAT'S impressive."

Thomas gave a modest smile. "No, just Terry, and even he's dealing with his phobia, so to speak. Really made life hard for me."

"Thought he was a friend of yours, the way you hugged him." Robert smiled back. "Do you usually congratulate people so warmly?"

The cheetah's gaze dropped for just an instant, a sigh slipping from his lungs, then the quiet smile was back. "Usually - I'm a little too demonstrative for my own good, I fear."

"You fear?" Robert arched an eyebrow. "Why? Who'd object to a friendly hug?"

"You'd be surprised," Thomas responded, a touch ruefully. "And it's not always the one you're hugging."

"Get over here, team!" a gruff voice barked. The rugby coach had taken the field.

Robert, an inkling of understanding dawning, gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "I'll catch you later, mate."

Then he headed quickly for the coach, glancing back once to see Thomas look up, his expression hopeful; bemused, but hopeful. A beat later the cheetah was hurrying back to the football pitch, calling out encouragement to friends still playing.

For the following forty minutes Robert immersed himself completely in one of his main passions - the game of rugby. He usually played on the back row, doubling up as a kicker, and did so today, much to his delight. He really didn't consider himself forward material at all, and besides, scrumming up with Tyrone didn't bear thinking about. At least he was on the same practice team this week, so he didn't have to cope with the tiger's tackles; Tyrone didn't so much tackle you as slam you back several feet then trample you into the turf. He wasn't subtle.

Robert managed to notch up two tries, with conversions, three drop-goals, and a penalty. With Tyrone bulldozing the opposition, it wasn't that tricky to find gaps in the defence. As half time came, the score line read Team A (Robert's - the coach lacked imagination) 39, Team B 15. The wolf sat on the boundary line, sipping a soft drink, watching as Thomas' coon friend scored a smart close-range goal and the cheetah ran out to congratulate him, this time with a both an exuberant hug and a kiss on the side of the muzzle.

Tyrone joined Robert, following his gaze. "I hear you're rooming with speedy over there."

The wolf nodded, resisting the temptation to move.

"I'd take care if I were you. That cat doesn't play for Team Sanity."

Robert stared askance at the tiger. "What makes you think that?"

"Lots of things," Tyrone responded. "Talking to himself. Sharing a bed with his sister before he moved to the residence. Odd little drawings. Oh, and he jumped his former room mate, once. Some people think he was actually trying to rape him." He paused to let this sink in. "I'll say this - I don't envy you your position." He gave a smirk as he stood up and moved off.

Robert stayed right where he was, a little stunned. It just didn't fit. Thomas was far too timid to jump anyone, let alone... Maybe he was just a little eccentric, and the usual whispers had blown things out of proportion. Maybe someone had wilfully misinterpreted one of his warm, rather enthusiastic hugs. He could have mused over it all day, but the coach had other ideas.

"Get back here, people! Time to ruck and roll!" the bear bawled out.

Robert actually winced as he pulled himself into a standing position and headed back onto the field of play. That one had been bad the first time, but the seventy-ninth...

Halfway through the second half he came up against one of the few rugby situations he wasn't confident about. A team-mate had secured a try right in the corner of the touchline area, almost snapping the flag in the process. Though that meant an even larger margin of success it also meant he was faced with a conversion at an extremely acute angle; he missed those far more often than he was happy with. Plus, the eyes of the coach and Tyrone boring into his back never helped.

As he dug a divot with his boot heel and perched the ball in it he caught sight of a small, blue-and-white clad figure sitting just beyond the left-hand boundary line, nearest the football pitch. Thomas. The cheetah seemed to be taking a great deal of interest in the game, and Robert's performance in particular. For some reason, this buoyed the wolf up a little. The conversion suddenly didn't seem so daunting.

Taking a deep breath he started the run-up, keeping it even and controlled. His foot connected firmly with the ball, sending it curving swiftly towards the posts. He drew to a halt, his breath held as he watched. Everything seemed to slow down dramatically, almost as if the game were taking place deep underwater. To Robert it took an agonisingly long time for the ball to clear the bar, but to everyone else it happened in a breath.

His success didn't take long to sink in, though. Both hands punched the air in delight as gruff cheers rose from several of his team mates. He spotted Thomas running in that effortless manner of his to retrieve the ball. The cheetah lobbed it back to the wolf - who caught it without even thinking about it - then flashed a toothy grin and gave twin exuberant thumbs up. Robert returned the grin after chucking the ball to one of his opponents, who had begun eyeing him askance. Then the coach barrelled up.

"KNEW you could do it!" he chortled, wearing a melon-slice grin. "Didn't I always say you could do it?"

"Repeatedly!" Robert replied, wincing as the coach gave him what he thought was a firm clap on the back. To the wolf it felt more like being thumped between the shoulder blades with a sledgehammer.

"All right, teams! B kick off!" The coach led the way to centre field.

Robert lined up on his touchline with his teammates, Thomas still watching closely. The wolf decided, on a whim, to try a very tricky two-player move known as a run-around, so called as that was what it was intended to give the opposition. He conferred briefly with a rabbit next to him before the enemy kicked off. Both stuck close together thereafter, waiting for a suitable opportunity. It came less than ten minutes from time.

The ball erupted from a ruck that just happened to have Tyrone in the middle. The backs fired it along the line as fast as physically possible, pressing to puncture the defence. Robert held back a little, timing his run right. The moment the ball was thrown towards the rabbit, he moved. Whilst the lepine ran left, he ran right, passing just behind his team mate, aiming to catch the ball he lobbed backwards. His timing was perfect, but he was so fixated on the ball he failed to notice the outhouse-sized puma moving casually into his path.

The wolf hit him like a juggernaut, his head turned to one side to track the ball. The puma didn't even flinch. Robert's neck and right leg jarred hard, the wind was punched out of him, and he crumpled groundwards like a sack of potatoes, out cold.

When he came to again he was lying on the sidelines, his head resting on something that felt like a lap, two small paws cradling it. One ankle felt like it had been used as a corkscrew. He opened his eyes to see two concerned faces gazing down at him. One was Thomas', who was also the owner of the lap and paws, the other was the coach. The cheetah looked like he wanted to speak, but he didn't get the chance.

"Nice try, Rob, but it helps to watch where you're going," the bear commented. "Plus you signposted your intent way ahead. Bit more practice and you'll do it in your sleep. Knock today on the head, though; I'm betting you've got a slight concussion - God knows I would after running into Damian. Tom - you're under orders to ensure Rob here rests until his next lecture. Okay?"

"Yes, coach," the cheetah replied.

"Good!" The bear straightened up. "Knew I could rely on you. We'll work on those run-arounds next week, Rob."

The coach moved back onto the field, intent on chastising Damian for his far-from-standard tackling method. Thomas helped Robert shift to a sitting position, so the wolf could at least watch the remaining few minutes of the match.

"You don't have to stick around, you know," Robert told the cheetah. "Feel free to practice your defence-splitting runs some more."

"No point overdoing it," Thomas waved a hand. "Besides, I enjoy watching rugby."

"Not playing it?" Robert turned to face him.

"I wouldn't survive five minutes!" Thomas answered, with a chuckle. "And the sight of Tyrone steaming toward me would be more than enough to spark off a run that would leave any defence standing, and the pitch far behind."

Robert gave a hearty laugh. "He tends to have that effect on a lot of people, myself included. By the way, how do you know him?"

Again the cheetah's gaze dropped, his manner suddenly a little bit troubled. "He's...he's one of those most responsible for the Chinese whispers going around."

Robert's eyes widened slightly. "I didn't think what he told me was entirely true."

"Depends what he told you," Thomas returned, quietly.

Robert wanted to learn more, but sensed the cheetah's reluctance to expand on his remark. "We can talk about this later," he decided.

Thomas flashed a thankful smile, then both fell to watching the end of the game. When the whistle finally blew, Team A had demolished B by 68 points to 24. The coach signalled the practice session was over, sparking a mass rush for the dorms. Robert pulled himself to his feet, one of which promptly complained vociferously. Thomas instantly moved to support the wolf, wrapping one arm around his waist and draping one of Robert's over his slim shoulders.

"Take your time," he told the wolf.

"Cheers, mate." Robert smiled at the cheetah, already getting to like him quite a bit.

Together they made their slow way up to room 96. Once inside Robert kicked off his boots, grabbed some shampoo and a towel, and headed into the bathroom for a shower. His ankle beginning to recover the wolf ditched his kit, with more than a little relief, and stepped into the minute cubicle. As the hot, revitalising water began sluicing through his fur, gentle jazz piano wafted from the main dorm. It continued for the length of the shower, relaxing him almost as much as the deliciously warm water. That cat could play.

After ten minutes of blissful ablutions the wolf switched off the shower, wrapped the towel round his waist, picked up his shampoo, then stepped out of the bathroom. Thomas sat at the keyboard, eyes closed, playing it with the same easy grace he'd displayed on the pitch. He stopped, opening his eyes as Robert walked to his bed and perched himself on it.

"That obviously did you some good," he noted, with a grin. "Hope you didn't mind my little bit of improv, there."

"Mind?" the wolf laughed. "I thoroughly enjoyed it! You play as well as you, well, play!"

"Thank you." Thomas was definitely loosening up. "I'll have to curtail this performance for now, though - 'tis my turn for a shower."

So saying he got to his feet and pulled off his running clothes, before moving across the room and rummaging in a drawer. Obviously not a prude, Robert mused, automatically averting his gaze. As the mildly uncomfortable wolf rubbed one neat ear the cheetah produced towel and shampoo of his own, then padded over to the bathroom.

"See ya in ten minutes," he chirruped, pulling the door closed behind him.

Robert chuckled, shaking his head; this could be fun after all. Swiftly he towelled himself down. This was the one part of washing he didn't like, because you always ended up with ridiculously fluffy fur that didn't lie flat for hours and crackled with enough static to power a small house. Robert pulled on some casual clothes then picked up his guitar case.

Smoothly he unzipped it and extracted the instrument itself. One look at the sleek six-string was usually enough to understand why he treasured it so. It didn't look like a standard electric guitar - no gaudy colours, no bizarre, angular shapes, no jarring expanses of white, and not one single sticker. Instead it resembled a compact, flatter acoustic, only really distinguishable by the lack of an echo chamber. Waking up on his eighteenth birthday to find the instrument propped up near his bed was one of the greatest moments of his life. It was truly unique, having been made specifically for him by his uncle, a master craftsman in the field.

Robert brought out a compact amp and plugged it in, then attached the guitar lead to it. He rested the guitar on his knee and played a simple five-note tune he always used to check the instrument was tuned properly. Not quite right, he noted. That was when Tyrone hit it, I'll bet. A slight tweak of one tremolo then the quintet of notes rang out again. Perfect!

He mused for a while over what to play, until a voice called out from the bathroom. "Are you gonna play that guitar or just cuddle it lovingly for an hour or two?"

Robert slowly plucked out the first few bars of the Funeral March, simultaneously glowering murderously at the bathroom door.

"That's not quite what I had in mind," Thomas' voice commented. "Do you know anything a little more upbeat?"

Robert chuckled, gently shaking his head. Settling his guitar a little more comfortably he began playing a peppy jazz tune his uncle had taught him. He didn't know its name, its composer, or if any lyrics were attached; he just knew he loved it. He closed his eyes, his world constricting to the music and the mental images it inspired. Most of them were memories of his small family, his little sister in particular. She was fond of dancing, often doing it as Robert played, and always if he essayed that particular tune. Admittedly, she wasn't the most technically brilliant dancer, but in sheer energy and enthusiasm she couldn't be matched.

The quiet creak of a door opening and soft footfalls heading his way jerked him back to reality. Thomas strolled in lazy fashion from the bathroom, one towel draped over his shoulder. Robert jerked his guitar upwards to block off the view, a little too fast as he cracked himself across the nose.

"Watch yourself!" Thomas chuckled, sitting next to him.

"Ack!" Robert yelped, swinging the guitar round so hurriedly he smacked the side of his head with the back of it.

"You'd better give me that before you concuss yourself," Thomas advised, grinning evilly, and smoothly wrenching the instrument from the wolf's hands.

Robert yelped again, clamping his eyes tight shut and grabbing the first thing his paws could find - Thomas's towel. With an air of triumph the wolf wrapped it tightly around his head.

"Now try it!" he challenged, voice heavily muffled.

"Silly boy," Thomas chided. For a moment he considered jumping onto Robert's lap, then reasoned the wolf might go into cardiac arrest as a result, so therefore settled for merely snatching the towel away (whipping the poor wolf's nose for the second time) then pinning his head in both paws. After a few seconds, Robert opened his eyes.

"Trust me to end up with a professional naturist for a room mate," the wolf observed, dryly. "He whose father always told him it was a baaaad thing to look upon naked fur."

"And trust me to end up with a king-size prude for a room mate," Thomas retorted, playfully. "He whose father always assured him prancing around in the fur was a perfectly normal thing to do."

"I'm not a prude," Robert protested, freeing his head from Tom's grasp so he could shake it for emphasis. "Just...conditioned to react a certain way is all..."

"Then I'll have to de-condition you," Thomas chuckled. "A little shock treatment here and there should do it. You share a room with me, you learn to live with me being the kind of cat who could walk stark naked along a crowded street and not bat an eyelid."

"Don't tell me you..." Robert's eyes doubled in size.

Thomas nodded ruefully. "When I was ten. I ran out of the mints I was chewing one day so went out to get some more from the local newsagents. Unfortunately, I neglected to put on any clothes first. I honestly could not understand why people kept giving me such odd looks. The expression on the human shopkeeper's face as I collected the mints, leant on the counter and proffered the money was priceless. Then I toddled on home, still bemused by the reaction I was getting. My naïve-as-can-be reasoning was, if no-one at home minded me wandering around 'in the buff', then why should anyone else?

"My little escapade even made the local evening paper, on page 13. 'Nudes at 10 - in the Morning' was the title, I believe. They'd even managed to get a picture - back view, of course. After seeing that, Mum and Dad made sure I knew why wearing clothing in public places was a very good idea. I felt a complete and utter plonker for almost a week afterwards."

"Sounds like you had quite a fun childhood," Robert commented, now genuinely much more comfortable with his feline companion's lack of clothing. It helped that the cheetah was actually quite attractive in an understated way, if truth be told...

"Oh, yeah - never-ending barrel o' fun," Thomas agreed, wryly. "Then I started Uni, and..." he gave a swiftly-deepening whistle, "...downhill from there."

"The rumours." Robert nodded. "I...have to say I'm beginning to see where they might have stemmed from. Nothing like being a fraction different to set tongues wagging."

"That, and one particular evening."

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"I want to. I'd prefer it if you got views from both sides."

"All right."

"Thank you. Now, when I started here, I roomed with a fox called Gary. He was not unlike yourself, if a little less jumpy. We got on like a house on fire. When the rumours began, he gave unquestioning support. And when certain parties began...began victimising me...he was the one thing that kept me going. He was a pair of arms to fall into, a shoulder to cry on. Can you blame me for falling in love with him like I did?"

He paused for a few moments, his eyes watering slightly. A few deep breaths, then he continued. "The evening in question I'd been trapped by a trio of thugs who took great delight in roughing me up and jeering at me in equal measure. It's odd, but I still haven't a clue who any of them were; I hadn't seen them before, I haven't seen them since, and nobody I know has ever heard of them. When they finally let me go I was a bleeding mess, and close to being a nervous wreck. I dragged myself back to the dorm to find Gary feverishly working to remove a crude scrawl from the wall above my bed. Whoever put it there must have used permanent maker, or acrylic paints, or the like, for it was still quite legible. 'Grade-A inbred nutjob sleeps here', it read. That was the last straw. I collapsed into a sobbing fit."

Tom's paws were shaking by now, his teeth gritted behind a forced flat expression. On a whim, Robert lightly gripped one of Thomas' hands. The cheetah regained his command on his emotions, flashed half a thankful smile, then resumed the story. "Next thing I know, Gary's picked me up, sat on my bed, and cuddled me to him. He didn't let go until he thought I'd recovered enough to be left alone, which took over half an hour. By that time he was 40 minutes late for a night out with a raccoon friend, but annoyingly selfless as he was he didn't care in the slightest. Well, I exhorted him to go, of course, assuring him I'd be fine, but not before I'd thanked him the only way that seemed adequate: I kissed him, right on the lips. Strangely, he wasn't surprised at all. Wonderfully, he kissed me right back. I swear all my pain vanished in that one moment.

"Of course, with my miserable luck, someone had to walk in just as the kiss was about to deepen. Gary's raccoon friend, it turned out, wondering where he'd got to. His reaction was actually one of quiet delight, curiously enough. Gary asked me to wait up for him before following his friend out, and I was left to my own devices. I remember I spent the evening working on a few essays, completely oblivious to the writing on my wall. Suddenly it just didn't matter to me."

There was a lengthy pause before he continued, and when he did his voice was barely above a murmur. "Gary didn't come back that night. Or the following day. The day after that Gary's friend, Charlie came to the dorm to talk to me. He'd not seen Gary either, not since he'd dropped him off at his house shortly before midnight, then driven off saying he was going to pay a visit to a supposedly haunted woodland lane about a mile outside town that interested him. Gary was fascinated with the supernatural, you see, always trying to see or hear something inexplicable, so Charlie didn't think anything of it.

"Naturally we quickly agreed to call in the police, report Gary as missing. No matter how hard they searched, though, they only ever found his Dictaphone, lying a hundred feet or so down a footpath, like he'd casually discarded it. About a week later someone reported that they'd seen him at the wheel of his Transit minibus, heading north along the main Catermouth road, passing the gas station at Hannes, alone and in a hurry, but for some reason the police didn't really follow it up, beyond a small internal enquiry which got a big fat nothing in response. They've all but shelved the whole thing now, convinced he upped sticks on a whim, headed off somewhere else just because he could. Yes, he did sometimes talk about simply driving off and seeing where the roads led him, but...but..."

Thomas dissolved into heavy weeping, his body slumping forward, his chin resting on his chest. The wolf was at a loss for several horrible seconds, before resolution set in. He looped both arms round the grief-stricken cheetah and pulled him close. It took several minutes for Thomas to recover, during which time Robert found his father-inspired unease at contact with bare fur ebbing away. It was a bit like touching a snake for the first time to discover they weren't slimy at all. The sensation was actually quite pleasant, especially since the cheetah's black-spotted yellow-white coat was surprisingly soft.

He also found himself thinking the whole Gary situation through, memories of news reports drifting through his mind. He'd thought at the time the authorities didn't seem as interested as they should have been, but then, there'd been no sign of foul play, no trace of violence, and by all accounts Gary hadn't any family to act as an anchor, so the official line had seemed plausible. Now, though, in the face of Tom's version of events, it didn't hold up at all. No way did you vanish into the night when a whole new relationship was opening up before you.

Thomas straightened up, a cue for Robert to let his grip fall away. The feline regarded the wolf with a gentle expression that seemed to touch something inside him he never knew existed.

"Thank you," Thomas murmured, definite feeling in his voice.

Rob couldn't stop a twinge of modesty creeping in. A little awkwardly he changed the subject, determined not to let his newfound friend linger on a topic that obviously troubled him greatly. "Hey, Tom - feel like jamming awhile?"

Tom chuckled, and clapped the wolf on the shoulder. "Gladly! Just let me get dressed first, okay?"

"Gladly!" Robert grinned, reclaiming his guitar.

Tom dressed in jeans, nondescript t-shirt, bland jumper and worn trainers then settled himself behind the keyboard. "Got a particular tune in mind, Rob?" he asked, fingers poised over the bewildering array of tiny buttons littered haphazardly across the top half of the instrument.

"Oooh..." Rob pursed his lips and scratched behind one ear as he thought.

"How 'bout the one you were just playing?" Tom suggested, after a while.

"You know it?" Rob exclaimed, almost dropping his guitar in surprise.

"Yep," Tom confirmed. "It's called 'Let it Out', if I remember a'right. I know the lyrics off by heart." He tapped a few buttons and a gentle drumbeat began, a smooth combination of snare, tenor and cymbals.

"Mmmm!" Rob purred, pulling a pair of imitation Raybans from his shirt pocket and slipping them on. "Mellow!"

Tom chuckled, head cupped in his paws, and elbows resting on the lip of the keyboard. "Nutter at 12 O' clock!"

"I don't even like almonds!" Rob complained, with a grin that almost touched his ears.

"Bang goes lunch then," Tom's beamer was every bit as expansive. "Actually - what are your lunch plans?"

"Avoid the cafeteria," Rob answered, straight-faced.

"Well, I know of a quiet little cafe about ten minutes walk from the campus," Tom remarked. "Interested?"

"Many students go there?" Rob queried.

"Only a very few."

"Then it's a date!" Rob agreed. He wagged a finger at the cheetah. "But no kissing, 'kay?"

"Wouldn't dream of it!" Tom assured the wolf, his fingers blatantly crossed. "We'll leave at twelve. First, though, we jam!"

"Groovy, man!" Rob made a victory sign with his left paw, then concentrated on his guitar. "A-one, and a-two, and a-one, two, three four!"

Both room mates chimed in perfectly, swiftly settling into their rhythm. Tom's singing voice was a little unsteady to begin with, but soon solidified into a soft, smooth tenor. Playing together seemed to give them a distinct confidence boost. Tom in particular hadn't 'tickled the ivories' so well in quite a while - he even managed to involve his tail in a few of the trickier chords. Towards the end Rob couldn't stop himself joining in with the singing on the chorus. Jamming, he decided, wasn't half bad.

All too soon the tune ended. Wolf and cheetah sat in silence for a few seconds, favouring each other with idiot grins.

"Now that was fun!" Rob proclaimed, with feeling.

"Hoo, boy, yeah!" Tom whooped, before switching to a faux French accent. "Ve 'ave only known each othair for a day, and ve are already makieng ze beautiful music togezzair!"

"We'll have to do it more often," Rob decided, sliding his guitar back into its case.

"Most definitely, old fruit!" Tom agreed, in a perfect upper-class twit impression. "Right now, though, I'm blinkin' ravenous, wot. How 'bout you, old boy?"

"Positively famished, dear boy!" Rob replied, in an equally buffoonish tone of voice. "I could eat a jolly old horse, don'cha know."

"Then get your jolly old wallet and jolly well follow me!"

"Righto!"

They trooped out of the dorm, Rob locking it behind them. A few odd looks were thrown their way as they strolled through the building polishing imaginary monocles and swinging invisible canes, but their spirits were far too high to take any notice. Tom seemed to know the streets inside out, as he led the way with unerring accuracy. It actually took a good two or three minutes less to reach the cafe than Tom had suggested, a feat he attributed to not having to evade certain unpleasant types.

The Roundabout Cafe was situated right next to a set of traffic lights on a t-junction, a fact which confused Robert more than a little. "Wonder what the owner's eyesight is like..." he mused.

Tom laughed. "Those lights have only been around for the last six months. Before that there really was a roundabout there. It was quite a landmark."

"Landmark?" Rob held the cafe door open for a portly female coyote, then let Tom through before entering himself. "How can a roundabout be a landmark?"

The cheetah indicated a framed photograph hanging on the wall above the table he was heading for. "When it's got a ten foot standing stone in the middle."

"Ten foot standing..." Rob trailed off, staring with mild incredulity at the sharp full-colour image of a tall, gaunt spire of rock jutting undaunted from a tiny circle of grass in the middle of a congested roundabout. "What did they do with it?"

"Ground it down to tarmac the new junction, probably," Tom replied. "I'm just gonna order - what d'ya feel like?"

Rob mused for a second, decided, and told Tom. The cheetah moved to the counter at the back, and he fell to examining the photo again. That stone really was impressive; it seemed a huge waste to remove it. He heard a small form take a seat next to him, and felt a paw wriggle into his trouser pocket, apparently after his wallet.

"Leave it!" He warned, snapping a restraining hand to Tom's chest. Then he froze, suddenly feeling like taking a long walk off a short cliff. Gulping, he looked round. Yup, he thought, with a deepening sense of impending doom, that isn't Tom, and I do have my hand on her breast. Oh, God! At least this place is empty.

He whipped his paw away, hoping to God the pretty cheetah he'd just inadvertently groped had a sense of humour. Hold on - _ cheetah _? He looked at her. She grinned hugely back at him. Raucous laughter from the direction of the counter finally clued him in. As he banged his head sharply on the table several times, Tom strolled over to stand behind the other cheetah, putting his arms round her and sharing a quick press of the lips.

"Robert," he beamed, "meet my sister - Briony."

The poor wolf groaned softly. It's not enough that I should manage to fondle some poor girl's cleavage - no, no, no, no, no! She just _ had _ to be my new friend's _ sister _. How do you climb out of this mess, O Hapless One?

He remained slumped forward on the table, unwilling to look either of the siblings in the face. Even when a gentle paw shook his shoulder he didn't budge. Then someone sat down next to him, draped an arm round his back.

"You've done nothing wrong," Tom assured the wolf, gently.

Rob looked up, his face contorted in a mixture of anger at himself and surprise at the cheetah's comment.

"I've just groped a complete stranger!" he burst out. "As far as I'm concerned I've insulted and degraded her. I can't live with that."

Now Briony herself leaned in. "Scratch that thought right now. You have not, I repeat _ not _ insulted me, and I don't feel even slightly degraded. Heck, if I can cope with Cheeky there" - here she prodded Tom between the ears - "using me as a furry, breathing hot water bottle then I think I can deal with someone briefly touching my breast." She broke into a smile, and kissed the now wide-eyed wolf right on the nose. "Especially a friend of Tom's."

"The number of blokes I know who'd kill for a reaction like that..." At last Rob sat up, looking a lot more comfortable. He grinned slyly at Tom. "Using your poor sister as a hot water bottle?"

Tom grinned right back. "Well, if she will insist on being so deucedly warm and comfy..." He removed his arm from Rob's back, then leant back to look up at his sister. He stroked the side of her face as he spoke. "'Sides, you enjoy it as much as I do!"

"Can't deny that!" She in turn tickled him lightly under the chin. "Oh - and there's the small matter of there being only two bedrooms, each with one double bed. Don't exactly leave us with much choice."

Tom's expression turned to the deeply affectionate. "I doubt I'd choose otherwise anyway."

Briony dipped her head, her mouth meeting her brother's in one more lingering, affectionate lip-press.

"And I thought my sister and I were close," he murmured, one eyebrow raised.

Eventually Briony ended the kiss, excusing herself on the admittedly pretty solid pretext of having to sort out their orders. Rob watched her go.

"I'm amazed she didn't hit me," he commented, with just a hint of wryness.

"I'm amazed she didn't kiss you," Tom replied. "And I'm not counting that slurp on the nose. When she met Gary she grabbed him in a bear hug and didn't let him come up for air for over two minutes."

Rob rolled his eyes. "Have any of your family ever heard of subtlety?"

"What's that when it's at home?" Tom asked, deadpan.

"Something tells me you don't get many overnight guests," Rob drawled.

"They have been known," Tom came back. "All of three, if I recall a'right. On each occasion Bri and I were 'forced' to share with Mum and Dad."

"Bet that got some interesting reactions."

"More interesting the older we got. Up until we hit double figures it was always something along the lines of 'Aww - that's so cute!'. For a couple of years after that it was 'O-kay...I'll pretend I'm not seeing that...". When puberty hit, it rapidly became 'For God's sake give them separate rooms!', or words to that effect. Actually, it's usually being welcomed at the front door by a clothes-free Dad that freaks people out the most."

"Can't imagine why..."

"Eh, don't knock it. It's dead handy for getting rid of salespeople, I tell ya."

Briony returned at that point, carrying a tray of three meals, two of which she set down in front of the others, then took a seat herself.

"Even waitresses get lunch breaks," she smiled, sipping her coffee. "So - what malicious lies have you been telling him, little bro?"

"Only the stark, naked truth," Tom assured her.

"Ain't dat de truth!" Rob grinned. "Okay - I now have a list of rules to observe when visiting your family." He checked them off on his fingers. "One - wait until your Dad is out. Two - when staying overnight insist on taking the sofa. Three - never, _ ever _ ask for spotted dick for supper if I don't want to be turfed out on my ear."

Both cheetahs exploded into laughter, almost choking on their meals.

"That was below the belt!" Briony cackled.

"And closer to the truth than you think," Tom put in. "Make a crude crack around Dad and you'll regret it. Remember the co-worker of his that came to dinner, Bri?"

"How could I forget? Wouldn't stop leering at Mum, kept on rattling off the crassest jokes and stories you've ever heard. The worst bit was when he grabbed Mum's bottom right in front of us all."

"You...are...joking..." Rob's mouth had fallen open in disbelief.

"Wish I was. Couldn't believe he'd had the gall. Also couldn't believe how fast Dad moved to grab him by the scruff of his neck and yank him up out of his chair. He was frog-marched to the front door and shoved outside so hard he fell onto his face."

"Good on your Dad," Rob opined. "That co-worker sounds like a real piece of work."

"And then some." Tom picked up the story. "Would you believe he didn't think he'd done anything wrong? He actually tried to blame Mum for being 'too provocative'. Dad didn't listen, of course; just shut the door on him. Didn't see him again, thankfully."

"Heard he got fired soon after, though. But enough of our troubles." Briony focused all her attention on Rob, who experienced a similar feeling to that of someone staring at the panel in the seconds before the first question at a job interview. "What about you?"

"W-what about me?" Rob stammered, wishing he had a solicitor sitting beside him.

"What family have you got? What are you studying? What are your ambitions? Do I look big in this?" Briony rattled off, without taking a breath.

Rob briefly considered making a break for it, then realised the two cheetahs could in all likelihood run him down in seconds, so resigned himself to his fate, with one addendum.

"I'm not answering the last question," he stated, as calmly as he could manage. "I value my life."

To his relief Briony merely chortled lightly, as opposed to batter his head down between his shoulder blades with the tray. "Hey, I wasn't expecting you to," she reassured him. "I just enjoy seeing blokes react to it, is all."

Rob bit back a scowl before attending to the other three questions. "I have a boringly normal Dad and Mum, and the most adorable little sister you could ever imagine. Six years old, cute as a button, and a demon at snap."

"That's quite an age gap," Tom observed.

"Mum and Dad split up little more than a year after I was born," Rob explained, matter-of-factly. "It was twelve years before they made up. Nine months after that up popped Chloe. All was wonderful for a while, but then the divisions appeared again. I'm..." He sighed heavily. "I'm half-expecting them to split up again at any time. I know I could cope, but Chloe..."

One of his paws, resting on the table, clenched as he pent up his feelings. They subsided considerably when two slender yellow and black hands gripped his. He looked up, to find Briony and Tom staring at him with real concern.

He managed a wan smile. "Chloe's the world to me. I have very little love left for either of my parents, but Chloe I adore, more so every day. This is gonna sound corny, but...I...call her my little Princess."

He didn't know why he said it, it just felt like a good thing to say. When the two cheetahs made no reply, he spoke up.

"Makes you wanna throw up, doesn't it?" Rob was beginning to feel just a little embarrassed, but managed not to show it.

"Not at all!" Briony assured him, a soft smile tickling her face. Tom, meanwhile, had gone completely gooey-eyed, a sight which cheered Rob up quite a bit.

"I didn't think it possible for there to be someone soppier than me," he commented, "but you manage it admirably."

"That's years of practice, that is!" Tom boasted. His manner became a lot more serious. "Do you know who Chloe's closest to?" The tone of his voice indicated he already had a very good idea.

"Me, I suppose," Rob answered, after a little thought. "She certainly greets me and treats me with a lot more warmth than she does Mum or Dad. Why?"

"How old are you?" Tom questioned.

"20. Why?"

"Damn. How long 'till you hit 21?"

"Another month. Now please tell me what you're going on about!"

"If your parents were to split up," Tom asked, slowly and deliberately, "and if neither of them showed an interest in Chloe, then who would be most likely to become her legal guardian?"

A small light flickered into life in the back of Rob's skull. "We only have two living relatives - a mildly batty great aunt in a nursing home, and Father's brother, who lives 200 miles away, and never takes any notice of us. Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

"It's only a possibility," Tom told him, guardedly, "but it could well be viable, if your parents were to split up, and they and your relatives show no interest, for you to put in an application to adopt your sister."

Rob sat bolt upright, more stunned than if he'd been walloped with a chunk of two by four. He stared at Tom in incredulous disbelief. "Adopt my own sister?!" he yelped. "That's...that's...that's...brilliant!" His eyes suddenly glittered with excitement. "I could become my sister's legal guardian..."

"It's just a possibility," Tom repeated, not wanting the wolf to get too carried away. "Just a possibility to keep in mind should the unthinkable happen."

"It's well in mind," Rob answered, eyes alive with energy. "Mainly 'cos the unthinkable could well become the inevitable. I don't want Chloe to suffer as a result."

"Then we'll have to do some research," Tom decided. "What's your afternoon like?"

"One lecture at one; hour and a half long."

"I've got two, both an hour long, from one, so if we meet up outside Brixton Hall at as close to three as possible, we can head to the library for an hour or so, and dig up what we can. Okay?"

"Fine," Rob nodded.

The conversation lulled awhile, as all parties finally gave full attention to their food. Eventually, Tom broke the silence, apparently deciding ye olde timeworn student line of talk was better than nothing.

"So, watya studying?" he asked.

"History," Rob returned. "You?"

"Computer Maintenance and Programming," the cheetah reeled off. "Better known on campus as Nerds 101."

Rob laughed in spite of himself. "Not heard that one meself, though you are spotty enough."

"Should've spotted that one coming!" Tom groaned.

Rob turned to Briony. "What about you? This job full-time, or do you study as well?"

"Oh, I study," Briony confirmed. "Psychology, in fact."

Rob could not stifle his guffaw of laughter. It was instantly followed by a guilty dropping of his eyes. "Sorry," he mumbled. "That was uncalled for."

Tom cocked his head to one side, a wryly affectionate smile on his lips. "You won't offend us that easy, mate." He laid a paw on one of the wolf's. "Friends can forgive a lot."

Rob studied the hand atop his for a moment, then twisted his paw over to firmly grip Tom's. He looked across at the cheetah, his expression a mix of warmth and determination.

"And absorb a lot," he told him.

Tom's smile brightened more than a little. Briony cupped both paws under her chin, screwed on a patented 'isn't that cute!' face, and fluttered her eyelashes.

"Oh, this could be the beginning of a beeyoutaful friendship!" she crooned, in a deeply syrupy voice.

"Shut it!" the other two demanded, in perfect unison.

The unexpected synchronicity was enough to send all three into a bout of laughter.

"Great minds think alike!" Tom grinned.

"So do weak ones!" Briony riposted. "And you'd best get yours out of here right now if ya don't wanna miss those lectures."

"What?!" two voices yelped, as their owners checked their watches.

"We better had get motoring," Tom added, getting to his feet. "I don't fancy being Talon's lateness example."

Rob followed suit. "Pardon me?"

"I'll explain as we go," Tom assured him. The cheetah turned to his sibling. "See ya, sis." He kissed her lightly on the mouth, then started for the door.

He looked back to check if Rob was following, to see the wolf press his lips to Briony's, before chirping out "Bye, Bri!" and heading his way. It was all the cheetah could do not to burst out laughing at his sister's dazed expression. The mirth won out when she swooned theatrically onto a table, both paws clasped to her heaving bosom.

"Ham actress!" Tom called back. Briony just stuck her tongue out. He focused on Rob, who had a curious, dazed expression creasing his face.

"I can't believe I just did that..." the wolf gasped.

Tom threw an arm around his companion's shoulders. "You do realise she'll expect you to do that every time she sees you now."

"What?!" Rob looked positively horrified. Then the fearful mask was supplanted by a widely grinning one. "I'll cope. Now, about Talon and lateness."

"Ah, yes." Tom let his arm drop. "Mister Talon is one of the best lecturers we have, but he does have an annoying obsession with punctuality. If you are more than one minute late - and that's exactly one minute 'cos he times it - you must wear one of his patented 'laggard hats'. Exactly the same as dunce's caps, but with an 'L' on them rather than a 'D'. He seems to have a very large stock, as you can usually see half a dozen or so dotted about the room, and he'll happily let you keep them. You'd be amazed how many people do."

"No I wouldn't," Rob came back. "After you and your sister nothing surprises me."

Tom gave a chortle. "It kinda makes the words 'shrink' and 'see a' pop into your mind, doesn't it?"

Rob's gaze fell slightly. "Yes..."

Tom rolled his eyes. "How can I convince you that you haven't even come close to offending me or Briony?"

Rob perked up again. "Well, that's a good start. It just hit me that with Bri studying what she is, you'd save a fortune on psychiatric bills."

"Of course!" Tom grinned hugely. "Ninety percent of her time will almost certainly be spent battling to understand Dad, though I doubt she'll succeed. Unravelling his mental processes is liable to be only slightly easier than trying to stop Tyrone in mid-run. Her chances of success rate lower than those of scientists discovering the moon really is made of green cheese. Hey - careful!"

The cheetah snapped a steadying paw to Rob's shoulder, as the wolf was laughing so hard he could barely walk straight, and thus was in grave danger of stumbling into the path of oncoming traffic.

"Watch yourself!" Tom advised. "I have to say the idea of new friend road pizza doesn't exactly appeal. I prefer fish 'n' chips."

Rob made no reply, since he was too busy laughing himself stupid. Eventually, he recovered enough to remark, "You really should go into stand-up with a wit like that. Only downside is you'd literally knock 'em dead."

"The Killer Comic. His jokes really are murder! I like it!" Tom's grin was positively lethal as well. "The Homicidal Humour Merchant, that's me. Lethal Laughter Launcher. Purveyor of Poisonous Pummffhhhh!"

He glared in suitably dangerous fashion at the large grey paw now clamping his muzzle shut.

"Enough, please!" Rob pleaded. "I can only take so much!"

By now they were entering Brixton. They wasted minimal time in gathering stationery and texts, then took their leave of the hall. Just outside the doors, they paused.

"This is where we part ways." Rob noted.

Tom's face took on a winsome 'do we have to?' look which catalysed an affectionate smile from the wolf.

"I'll see you at three, okay?" Rob started for his lecture. Odd, he mused, as he walked. I'm as reluctant to leave his company as he apparently was mine. Why? I've only known him a day. Ah, well.

He shrugged off the thoughts as he entered the room, concentrating instead on the times of knights and fair maidens, which was silly as the lecture was on the industrial revolution.

Ninety minutes later he re-emerged, weighed down with twice as much literature as when he'd entered. After a brief flirtation with the idea of hiring a small crane to transport his books he hauled both them and himself all the way up to dorm 96. Once inside he gladly dumped the documents on his desk. Plucking a dog-eared A4 pad out of the pile he opened a thick tome at a book-marked page, plucked a pen from a pocket, and immersed himself in note-taking.

By the time three o' clock ticked around he'd covered five sides in neat, ordered writing. With just a twinge of reluctance he put the pen, pad and book aside, then took his leave of the dorm. He was almost at the main doors when Tom rushed past, calling out "Just let me drop off my books and I'll be with you!"

"Fine!" Rob replied, pushing through the doors. He leant on the wall to one side of the entrance, and waited. It felt like mere seconds before the doors clattered open and Tom was by his side.

"All set?" the cheetah enquired.

"Uh-huh," Rob confirmed. "Lead me to that library!"

"We'll be there before you know it." Tom started for the campus.

The walk was brief but pleasant, and the conversation light. The library turned out to be an inoffensive red brick building nestled between two much more modern three-storey blocks. Inside it was divided into two distinct sections. First came the main entrance atrium, a small space bordered by wood and Perspex (the original glass had long since been shattered) partitions. At the back, stretching right across the room, was a worn wooden desk. Behind that sat a middle-aged and distinctly humourless female rabbit, her implacable eyes regarding the duo with the same unconcealed distrust a policeman would have for a convicted felon. A metal barrier jutted several feet out from the desk, with solid looking security gates filling the gap between the end of it and the partitions either side. Two doors marked simply 'IN' and 'OUT' stood to attention opposite each other to finish off the square.

Tom and Rob pushed through the security barrier and the 'IN' door to enter the second section of the building - the library itself. Two thirds of it was lined with sable bookcases, all stuffed to the gills with heavyweight texts on every subject conceivable. Most of the rest was given to tables and desks, with a trio of computers and a microfiche machine huddled in a corner. A small selection of students was sprinkled about the sizeable room, generating a gentle murmur of whispered conversation.

The wolf and the cheetah headed for the shelves, scanning along them until they came to the section labelled 'LAW'. A moment's perusal produced two volumes, one entitled 'Guide to Family Law - Fifth Edition', the other a copy of the 'Children and Adoption Act'. These were taken to a vacant table near the computers, whereupon Tom produced a pair of thin-rimmed reading glasses, perching them on his neat nose before poring over the Act. Rob stared at his companion for a few seconds, then focused his attention on the 'Guide to Family Law'.

Some twenty-odd minutes passed in complete silence, until Tom looked up from his reading matter, his expression thoughtful. "Found anything?"

Rob sat back. "Nothing definite. There's nothing to say a brother can't adopt his younger sister, but nothing to say he can, either." He sounded a little frustrated.

"Same here. Closest it gets is relatives, who can adopt. Doesn't really get any more specific. Encouraging, but not enough to be sure. Hmm..." he rubbed his chin slowly, musing it over.

"Wonder if it's happened before," Rob pondered. "One sibling adopting another, I mean."

Tom's eyes lit up. "Well thought! If it has, then it's legal. Judicial Precedent. We just have to peruse the records."

"Which are where?" Rob was getting up already.

"Online, of course," Tom answered, putting his glasses away.

"Oh, hello - there's Tyrone," Rob noted, just a touch of curiosity in his tone.

Tom's face fell. "Alone?"

"No - that puma I literally ran into is with him. Neither of 'em looks particularly cheery." He turned to his friend, who was looking a lot less comfortable. "They've not seen us, though."

"It's at times like this I wish this place had a back door," Tom muttered, unconsciously backing away a little.

"They're heading for the shelves," Rob reported. "Suggest we curtail our research for today."

"No argument here," Tom answered.

Trying not to seem too hurried they made their way to the 'OUT' door, only for the puma to jab a finger at them, then he and Tyrone ran for them. Tom was sprinting through the door a split second later, Rob hard on his heels. The small cheetah hurdled the gate without even breaking stride, a feat the wolf didn't even think about emulating. As they took off across the campus Tyrone and the puma blasted through the atrium, leaving behind one deeply startled librarian.

Tom easily outran Rob, quickly disappearing amongst the muddle of buildings. The wolf had to settle for ducking into a vacant classroom, watching through a window as the pursuing duo thundered past. He then stepped out and headed for the dorm, fairly confident they'd never catch Tom. That belief was shattered as he reached Brixton House. He entered the building to see two muscle-bound felines stooping over a much slighter one lying face up on the stairs. Sudden anger flashing up, he broke into a run once more. Just before he reached them, the puma let fly with a punch that knocked Tom's head savagely to one side, laying him out cold.

"HOI!" Rob bellowed. The puma turned round, took one look, then a smug smile spread over his face as he charged himself. Just what Rob had wanted. The wolf waited until the last second, before feinting to the left, the puma moving to block, then dodging lightning fast to the right, and past the outsize feline. He screeched to a halt, span round, and slammed a fist across the face of the cat. The ground seemed to shake as the puma tumbled to the floor, not quite unconscious, but certainly stunned. Tyrone made no move as Rob picked Tom up, and headed at speed up the stairs. He didn't pause until they were inside dorm 96.

Depositing the cheetah on his bed the wolf locked the door then headed into the bathroom to collect a little toilet paper. He returned to Tom and applied the paper to the blood trickling from his nose and down the front of his muzzle. It was as he did this that Tom came round. On the instant he broke into soft sobs, swinging into a sitting position and cupping his face in his paws. Without really thinking about it Rob sat next to him and looped both arms round him. Seconds later, the cheetah was crying against his chest.

Rob remained silent, content to let Tom vent his emotions. A trace of anger still simmered in his eyes as he held the cheetah close. Most of it focused on the wordless puma. He caught himself planning to do far worse to that cat than just punch him. Prejudice was something that did tend to rile him, but this time there was an extra catalyst. Rob let his gaze drop to the slight form still sobbing within his embrace.

It was with mild surprise he realised just how much Tom's welfare had come to mean to him within a single day. Plus there was the mildly unsettling knowledge that a small but significant part of him was beginning to yearn more and more for the cheetah's company. Whenever Tom was around he felt a little more...contented, really. His happiness gauge seemed to rise a few notches involuntarily. His paws shifted their grip slightly, and his chin dropped to rest lightly between Tom's ears as he thought it all over.

Rob stirred from his reverie a few moments later on feeling the cheetah's body still, and hearing the sobs subside. Then a paw closed over one of his.

"I really need some more stamina," Tom remarked ruefully, in little more than a whisper. "Cheetahs and staying power have never been synonymous."

Rob swivelled his hand to firmly grip Tom's. "That puma won't be bothering you for a while," he told the cheetah, the feeling evident in his voice.

Tom's eyes rolled up to look at the wolf, his face spreading into that gently affectionate smile once again. "Gave him what for, huh?"

"Let's just say he'll have a sore head for a while," Rob replied.

"You hit him?!" Tom exclaimed, surprise and mild disbelief creeping into his smile for a few seconds.

Rob nodded. "Knocked him to the floor. That was a surprise. I mean, if he doesn't move when you run head-on into him, a punch should be less than nothing."

Tom chuckled, squeezing his friend's paw. "I guess you underestimate your own strength. He'll have one massive grudge against you now, though - he doesn't look the type of cat to take a decking lying down."

Rob laughed out loud. "Nice one!" Then he sobered up a bit. "I'll cope. I've dealt with his type before."

"Oh?" Tom lifted his head to rest it against Rob's. The wolf didn't seem to mind. In fact, his smile widened slightly, which surprised him in particular.

"Yeah," Rob suddenly found both of his paws had come to rest on the cheetah's hip, the fingers intertwined. He was pretty sure he hadn't asked them to do that. Shrugging it away, he continued. "At college there was a coyote who had quite an inflated view of himself. He made a point of 'introducing' himself to newbies, making sure they knew who was numero uno. When he tried it on me, though, I'm afraid I snapped. One punch and he was slumped over a litter bin. I remember toying with the idea of dumping him in the bin, but then he started to come round. He vowed to get me back as I walked away. I spent the next two years watching my back. He never did make his attempt, though."

"Guess a kip on a bin was a good deterrent," Tom grinned. "Maybe a trip to the floor will prove the same for that puma. I still feel you're putting yourself at risk, though."

"It's worth it." Rob didn't even pause before answering, even more feeling than before clearly evident in his tone. He then had to battle not to show his astonishment at his own certainty, and just a touch of embarrassment. Where on earth had that come from? Tom's ear-to-ear grin definitely didn't help matters.

The cheetah's expression softened to the affectionate smile once again, albeit a little more intense this time. He turned his head, his nose rubbing gently against Rob's cheek. The wolf could not stop himself climbing the happiness scale another notch on feeling lips brush his fur. They didn't connect with his face, though. He felt them move as Tom murmured "Thank you", then the cheetah slipped from his friend's arms and stood up.

Rob simply could not believe the next emotion that filled him - disappointment. I _ wanted _ him to kiss me? He wasn't sure he liked the implications of that. This was turning out to be a very strange day. Shaking himself, figuratively and literally, he moved across to his desk and opened the thick volume he'd been perusing before. It was his intention to immerse himself in study, thus preventing his brain from dwelling on the frankly worrying. That plan was neatly put paid to when Tom sat opposite him, powering up his computer.

Gah! Something told him he wasn't going to get as much done as he might like. Just _ concentrate _. With an effort he centred his attention on the text. He managed a full paragraph before his eyes crept up to look across the desks. Tom was completely focused on the screen of his computer, his fingers working the keyboard with practised ease. The light from the monitor lit upon his face, emphasising its contours. Its contents were reflected on the pristine surfaces of his glasses, a flashing, mobile tableau of text and colour. It all moved too fast for Rob to determine what any of it was. This guy was a quick worker.

Then the cheetah broke off to look at him in quiet amusement. The wolf ducked down to his book again, far too fast for his own liking. Great! Way to give him the wrong impression. What'll you do for an encore? Start doodling cheetah spots on your pad? Then he noticed that was exactly what his paw was happily doing. Yeek! His face flashed nervy guilt as reflex action caused the paw to drop the pen and flatten itself over the sketch. Please _ God _ don't let him have seen it. Luckily it seemed he hadn't, for his face was turned to his monitor once more, although there was something curious about his smile...

Rob forced himself to get on with his work. Soon he'd even gotten into something close to a rhythm, his pen scratching almost musically against the paper. Then, after two hours of intense work, broken only by a twenty minute trip to the canteen for supper, a sharp rap at the door shattered his tenuous concentration.

"Aha!" Tom all but leapt from his chair, striding over to the door. "Late again!"

He unlocked it and pulled it open slightly. Rob watched in intense curiosity, though he was making a serious effort to hide it. Roughly translated, that meant he glanced down at his text whenever Tom so much as flicked an ear. On the other side of the doorway lounged an orange housecat wearing jeans, white t-shirt, a lived-in leather jacket, and an expression that could only be described as a lazy smirk. He pulled a disc from a pocket and fumbled it, only for Tom to snatch it from the air inches before it hit the floor.

"Oops - guess I slipped a disc!" the cat quipped, his grin indicating the whole thing had been completely deliberate.

Tom, grinning right back, levelled it at the feline's mouth. "Lucky you've got a built-in drive, then, isn't it?"

"Unrecognised media!" the cat announced, not even batting an eyelid. He started down the corridor. "This drive only takes edible input."

"Incorrigible!" Tom chuckled, shutting the door. Rob grabbed at the pen he'd let drop to the desk, only to knock it some five feet across the room. A wild lunge and snatch was just enough to retrieve it, then he concentrated on his work. It was only when he noticed the distinct lack of any actual ink on the paper that he realised he was holding the pen upside-down. The final humiliation came on flipping the pen over, and thereafter taking several seconds to twig that he couldn't write without clicking the nib into view first. His head sank to the desk, a soft groan escaping his lips.

Tom, meanwhile, was almost doubling up with laughter. "Why do I feel life around here is gonna be a long way from boring with you as company?" he wondered, head cocked to one side, eyes lit with a mixture of amusement and a tinge of fondness.

"One-wolf disaster area, that's me," Rob replied, ruefully. "You name it, I can destroy it."

"Aircraft carrier!" Tom couldn't resist suggesting.

"Let me loose on the bridge and I'll have it speared by a rock before you can scream 'WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING!'" Rob's humour was back with a vengeance.

"You don't know how fast I can scream!" Tom cackled.

"Take me to that carrier and we'll find out!"

"I doubt the crew of HMS Megakiller would oblige!"

"Send yer Dad over - he'd clear that ship in no time flat!"

"Oh, now that's just cruel!" Tom wiped the tears from his eyes and straightened up. "Now, much as I'd love to see you demolish one of Her Majesty's finest, I have an evening class to attend."

"What in?" Rob asked, genuinely curious.

"Take a guess!" Tom challenged, stepping smartly forward, putting his weight on the ball of his left foot, his right lifting up a little, then without pause springing back to his original position. He followed it up with a backwards step on the right foot, the left lifting slightly, then rebounding to stage one. The cheetah repeated the whole sequence with fluid grace whilst Rob looked on in total bemusement. Then it finally hit him.

"Dancing," he stated, his tone indicating his annoyance at how long it had taken him to click.

"Latin, to be precise," Tom confirmed, moving across to his desk to drop off the disc. "Salsa, to be even more so. It's a hobby."

"Good hobby!" Rob nodded. "Had a passing flirtation with it myself, but my two left feet put paid to that idea."

"Not a good excuse!" Tom flashed a reproving look. "I was pathetic when I started. I'm still not perfect now." His ears straightened up visibly, and he gazed thoughtfully at Rob as an idea came to him. "Actually, I doubt the instructor would mind someone watching..."

"Ah!" Rob held up a paw. "Pass! I can't afford distractions. This," he tapped his pad, "has to be done for tomorrow morning. Maybe another time."

Tom's gentle feline face split in the lightly affectionate smile Rob was getting to know well, and getting to like. "I'll hold you to that! See ya in three hours."

He padded out of the door.

"Later," Rob found he was smiling himself, with actual warmth yet.

Tom's smile broadened as he shut and locked the door. Footsteps trotted along the corridor and faded from earshot. Finally Rob was able to concentrate fully on his work. Only ever moving from his desk to collect two more books, he managed to surpass his expectations, finishing the note-taking twenty minutes before Tom was due back. With visible relief he stood up, padding round the room to stretch his cramped legs.

As his body roamed, so did his mind. It mused over one thing, and one thing alone. Or rather, person. What did he see in Tom? What was it about that cheetah that hooked his attention so? He was pretty sure it wasn't physical attraction. He hadn't caught himself drooling uncontrollably over Tom's muscular physique and chiselled features, after all. Okay, the cat possessed neither, but... Plus he hadn't once felt the urge to search out the answer to the equation Rob plus Tom plus bed. But he had wanted the cheetah to kiss him, and he couldn't easily deny that close proximity with him was something he enjoyed. I'm acting like I'm...I'm... _falling for him_...? No - can't be. Not so quickly, surely? Oh, I can't make head nor tail of this.

His own swished sharply back and forth as he paced and pondered. He didn't notice immediately, but when he did, it was with a violent double-take. Okay - now I _ know _ I'm mildly unhinged. Either that or I really do like him.

In mild desperation he dragged a sketchpad and HB pencil from a bag, slapped the latter down on his desk, and began sketching. He freely admitted he wasn't the best artist in the world - far from it, in his view - but what he drew was at least recognisable. Usually. Tonight he was pencilling in a rough view of the entrance to Brixton Hall. He was putting the finishing touches to it when a key rattled in the lock, the door swung open, and Tom entered.

"Howdy, Rob!" the cheetah greeted him, cheerily.

"Evening," Rob replied, not looking up.

Tom stared thoughtfully at the wolf for a moment or two, then spoke up...in a spot-on 'surfer dude' valleys accent. "Like, what'ya doin' there wolf-dude?"

Rob stopped sketching, turning his head to blink in gently startled fashion at the cheetah. Then the beginnings of a grin appeared. "Jes slappin' down some lead, Tom-dude," he answered, in just as accurate an accent.

"Hey, excellent!" Tom waved a thumbs-up in the wolf's general direction. "Think I can have a, like, dekko, dude?"

"Well I dunno," Rob stalled. "It's pretty bogus stuff."

"Aw, come on!" Tom pleaded, with much exaggerated movement of his arms. "I totally won't, like, diss it or something."

Rob pulled a variety of faces as he faked a mental battle. "Well, all right, dudester - but no dissing, 'kay?"

"Cross my heart, amigo!" Tom avowed, one paw clamped over his forehead. He then realised his mistake (complete with cartoon-style overdone take) and moved his paw to his chest. He then flashed a huge and deeply sheepish grin, as he spoke a few words in his normal voice. "Heh - I flunked anatomy." After Rob had stopped laughing, it was back to the valleys. "Now show the picky, dudeski!"

"Here it comes, bud." Rob spun the pad upright and clumped it down on the end of the desk with a flourish, only to notice it was upside down. Matching Tom's cheesy grin perfectly, he revolved it at speed.

The pad displayed a passable sketch of two unkempt doors, flanked by grimy windows and with a cracked night light over them.

Tom leant back violently for a few seconds, like he'd been caught in a very short-lived gale, crying out "WHOOOOAH!" Then he straightened up. "Like, totally gnarly, dude!"

"You really like it?!" Rob was that amazed the valley twang vanished completely from his voice.

Tom nodded. "Yup," he confirmed, also having reverted to his normal voice. "Nice, crisp little sketch. Certainly better than anything I could do. You have some talent."

Rob gaped, wondering if the cheetah was humouring him. That anyone could have an opinion on his drawing other than 'Ye Gods that's awful!" was something he simply couldn't comprehend. His mind then partially seized up as he felt a small paw shut his dangling jaw for him. It took no small effort to kick both brain and mouth back into life.

"Blimey..." he murmured, completely unable to think of something intelligent to say.

"Keep practising, and you'll be quite a good sketcher," Tom told him, that smile curving his lips again. "Just have a little faith in yourself."

"Yes, Teach!" Rob smiled back, standing up.

He found himself standing within an inch of Tom, their muzzles all but touching. After a few moments of awkward silence on the wolf's part, and fondly amused on the cheetah's, Tom turned and vanished into the bathroom.

Well that was an anticlimax, Rob thought. Quite what he would have liked to have happened was a mystery even to him. He snapped himself out of his reverie, and tidied up his desk, finishing just as Tom reappeared.

"Early night for me," the cat announced, smoothly sloughing his clothes, and piling them neatly on top of his chest of drawers. "Lots to do on the morrow."

He padded noiselessly over to Rob, who appeared a fair bit more comfortable with his roommate's distinctly un-prudish nature.

"Good night!" he chirruped, giving the wolf a firm hug, then jumping into his bed and under the sheets before the dumbfounded lupine could even think of reacting.

Rob shook his head, a little dazed. "Yeah - good night..." he mumbled. He undressed down to his boxers, then crossed over to turn off the light. On the way back he misjudged his walk, and slammed right into the end of the bed, falling forward onto the sheets.

"Ow," he griped, heavily muffled. Barely stifled laughter erupted from across the room as he dragged himself under the bedclothes.

Ten minutes later, both were fast asleep.

Some time afterwards Rob was disturbed by the sound of a door closing, and a key rattling in a lock. Still very drowsy, he forced himself into a sitting position. Tom's bed was vacant, the sheets pulled back a fair way. Brow furrowing heavily in puzzlement he groped for his watch, to see it was 1:30am. What the hell was that cheetah doing up and about at this hour?

With an effort he swung his legs round and stood up. Walking to the window he looked out, mind sluggishly churning over the facts. A bright two-thirds moon cast its silvery glow over the grounds before him. A few jarringly bright orange lights pockmarked the pathways, their stark artificial illumination in strong contrast to the soft, natural radiance of the moon. His eyes caught movement directly below him. He grabbed his binoculars, left on his desk, and focused them on what he'd seen.

A single figure stole across the grass, keeping to the shadows as much as possible, heading for the football pitch. That in itself was enough for Rob to hit on a strong possibility. Confirmation came upon the stealthy creature stopping under a light right next to the pitch.

Tom.

He wore the same tracksuit as earlier, but his feet were bare. A football pinned under one arm, the feline looked to be waiting, though for what or who Rob couldn't begin to speculate. After what felt like an age a second figure padded into the light - the raccoon from earlier, who he now knew to be called Charlie, also wearing a tracksuit. They shared a very firm hug, then both proceeded to slip out of their suits. Neither wore anything other than their fur underneath.

Good grief...they aren't going to do what I think they're going to do... Are they?

Side-by-side coon and cat jogged out onto the pitch and began a series of standard warm-up exercises, conversing quietly all the while.

Oh my good God, they are! They're practising football naked! My roommate and his team mate are playing football naked in the dead of night! Rob lowered the binoculars, rubbed his eyes, then put the field-glasses back up. Of all the strange habits...

He watched as the cheetah and the raccoon began exchanging short, quick passes, moving swiftly up the field as they did so, then put his binoculars back on the desk, succumbing to the insistent beckoning of his bed. No point worrying about it tonight. He could think it over come morning. Within minutes, he was slumbering deeply once more.