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So what if I do like him him?

In the house just down the street (take a left, not a right), you'll find a cul-de-sac of houses no smaller than this one, all used for entertaining some sort of company. The green one with pale trim hosts all the right people to get people voted in as city mayor. The quaint blue one hosts parties for a spoiled middle-schooler who walks across the neighborhood to go to school. The tan one hosts a party of friends most nights, including tonight.

And tonight none other than the best Rock Band quartet around the block is crashing the party, severely multiplying the jealousy of the other four or five non-musically inclined guests. Of course, nothing less than the best bags of chips and dips and sodas decorate a nearly forgotten wet bar in the basement. The music is the focus of tonight's venture, just as it had been before and just as it will be for some time yet.

_ So what if I do like him?_

The dynamic four includes a sergal on the drums (glorified game pads though they are), a border collie and otter on the guitar and bass, and a fox, who, as the most vocally ranged of the four, takes up the microphone like he's singing in all the spare time others waste to sleep. Naturally, their skills are refined; this type of party is common through their final summer together. A somber atmosphere keeps the air still whenever a song isn't playing.

The sergal, mighty as he is with his drumsticks, resigns to ask for a break, much to the chagrin of his company. "Come on, guys. Just a five minute break? I've got the most manual labor here."

June, the guitar-wolf, speaks up, "Yeah, I mean, why not? We can always come back to this. When are your parents coming back again Scar?"

Scarlet, as the sergal's full name is pronounced, replies, "Pfft. They're in Alaska or something like that. They aren't coming back until this weekend."

The fox, still charged up with enough energy to tire a lapine battery mascot, bounces in place as he finally concedes, "Fine! But if your parents aren't going to come downstairs and shut us down, we're going all night!" The little guy may not realize it, but he is the focus of this story portion in particular.

Many stories can be and will be told of the four: where they go after this friendship slips into the past, who they decide to allow in their lives, and so forth. For now, however, the fox, "Max" as his collar will tell you, deserves the spotlight as the dimmed basement lights seem to focus on the small upraised "stage" that the party currently occupies.

With agreement from some of the peripheral characters of the party and some mumbled excuses for not staying any later, the party shrinks to a comfortable seven. Max, in the middle of a conversation, excuses himself to use the restroom of the same floor. In turning away from his focus, the fox's eyes catch those of the otter on the bass, Luke (also Lucas as he was called by no one).

The eye contact lasts but a second as an unspoken question passes through both sets of eyes simultaneously. The question itself, of course, was raised by a then-considered buried idea. Sure, both males had at one time or another considered the other to be attractive (and more than a few nightly stress relief sessions passed with one visiting the other's thoughts), but neither had seriously considered the real problem at hand.

That is, of course, until this very night.

_ So what if I do like him?_

Nothing could go...horribly. Right? I mean, it's weird that I haven't thought about it before. Before I catch myself staring, I offer an easy smile and a wave, his figure leaning against the wall on the opposite side of Scar's basement.

When I turn, I'm certain my ears fall a little. Droop a little more. Bob slightly lower with every step instead of remaining springy.

Sure, I mean, who hasn't thought of their gay friend at least once when pawing, right? But now, I feel...guilty. I feel like I ought to confess the fact that I've thought about him naked and being intimate with me. It was just once in the shower, and after that I honestly thought I might throw up. It wasn't worth it.

Never before or since have I fantasized about a friend. It's too much. It really messes with your head the next time you see them, and hopefully your brain puts back together that you two really are only friends before you say or do something embarrassing.

The lights off the projector from the game cast a shadow whose toes I continue to step on to leave the direction I'm headed, the bathroom excuse really just a brief break from the expectation of singing every song so flawlessly. You ever tried to sing a manly rock and roll song and then transition into the latest girly song from that popstar people can't decide if they love or hate?

A side area of Scar's finished basement hides a little bathroom, the thing barely big enough to support the toilet and the rest of the space dedicated to a seemingly out-of-place shower stall. Don't ask me, I didn't build the house. Sometimes Scar will make remarks about the crazy things they've found here, including stuff like a broken glass detector on the basement windows and a peephole in the garage door.

I close the door, but I do little more than pace in front of the mirror, scrutinize the look in my eyes, pace more, look back, splash my face, and pace again. Nothing has ever thrown me off my game this badly before. It was only a Truth or Dare game. Those things aren't meant to even be taken seriously. Who has ever even answered a Truth honestly anyways?

...Maybe that's a fox thing.

Anyways, I facepaw really hard to start thinking about the pain instead of the inevitable avalanche of emotions that I'm staring at down the barrel. They'll come when they do, but I've got to last a few hours more at least. I could talk it out or maybe take a run or a nice bike ride or talk it out. Talk...to who? I can't up and admit that maybe I've made a mistake by playing Truth or Dare. Who would invite me to parties after that?

_ "Don't invite that Max guy. I hear he hyperventilates when you ask him who his first crush is."_

That wasn't the winning question for getting me this disheveled, but it parallels it. Honestly I can't believe that I'm one of the three gay kids (Scar is bi but doesn't want to embrace that idea until his parents are out of the picture) and I'm the only one who hasn't already done anything with another guy. Nothing. Does that make me prude, or my friends slutty?

Luke was talking the other day about some other guy he's fuck-buddies with like it was dinner conversation. It was so casual, like the idea of sucking on some other dude's cock is comparable to a walk in the park. Neither he, nor anyone I talk to, or even society, seems to think the same way I do. Sex is just something I want to hold out on for some reason. I think it will mean more with the right person, for whatever romantic value that has. I don't even know how or where I'd get laid even if I wanted to.

It's really defeating, and my ears sag further as my thoughts only slip further down the slope.

Then I suck in a deep breath, look at my phone, and see that five minutes have flown like unhelpful grains of sand. I don't know many grains of sand that are helpful, but these ones are particularly useless.

That gets the smile back on my face. Same old stupid fox, I guess.

My self-motivational speech lasted all of about an hour before I started to get weary again. I tell myself that I'll try to talk to the otter, and maybe then I can start to get past this. We turn off Rock Band for now, thoroughly worn out despite my earlier declaration to go all night and into the morning. I'm sure no one has a problem with spending the night (with the exception of the peripheral people. They left early), and with the clock ticking closer and closer to midnight, the decision is to finish things off with a movie.

I only spoke up the loudest to vouch for literally any movie that wasn't too loud but that I'd know the best, mostly so I could time things with the otter.

All throughout that final playing session, I found myself unintentionally eyeballing him as we played on. Words to songs aren't that hard, and you only have to vaguely resemble the original singer. It left me a lot of time to stare and admire.

Luke is someone I can tell is driven by passion, and allows himself to be. He has no problem looking like he's really playing a bass or laughing when he messes up or singing along even when it doesn't count for anything. Honestly, just watching him have fun could make basically anyone convinced they were as well. He was a little pissed when we finished with some metal song that literally beat all of our scores to a pulp. Granted though, we were all a little on edge after that. Thank god we finished with it.

...That said, the movie was little less than a chopping block for me to approach, a finality of events forcing me to come along and deal with my feelings. Everyone seemed to notice how quiet I got, because between Scarlet and I, things never shut up. I just claim to be tired and tell them I'll probably crash during the movie. Will the starting credits already rolling, it's enough of an excuse to get by. Of all of the chairs and space to spread out over in that basement, I made sure to be close to the otter. He noticed and shot me a smile, but it wasn't smug or overly egotistic. More than anything else, he seemed to appreciate it. Perhaps he, just like me, was lost in thoughts for the greater part of the night so far.

Scar has all of these old lounge chairs and beanbags and stuff in the basement just for occasions like this. When I prop up right next to the otter and pretend to be watching the movie, I can only pretend for so long. We're in the back, or at least furthest away from the projected screen.

"You wanna talk about this, or keep trying to be clever and wait for me to make a move?" I swear internally. Externally, there's plenty of red and folded ears, though really only the movement piece is visible. When I look over at him, he seems more set up to watch me than the movie, and I can't help but wonder how long that's been the case.

Don't get me wrong, never being in a serious relationship before doesn't mean I don't know how to flirt or not know what I want. What it really means is that behind every action that I make with an uncharacteristic level of certainty, there is this little fox in my mind that wants to rethink it a few times and make sure it's really what should go there. A frustrating hesitation that only makes things worse when I make eye contact with the darkened otter. "Well, I mean... I guess I kind of figured it'd be easier to let you...decide..."

My eyes widen exponentially as he starts to crawl closer to me, stopping only when he comes to a very certain rest short of pinning me by my shoulders and leaving me no escapes. That all said, the look on his face (from what I can tell; with the light all coming from behind him, he has more of a halo effect than anything else) betrays a sort of uncertainty to mirror mine, as if everything seemed easier until he got to this point. There's a tension that's almost as palpable as exists in a room full of testing students. "Were you thinking of something along these lines?"

The question somehow manages to sound both honest and suggestive. Do I really want him on top of me? No, probably not. Do I mind? No, probably not. Despite (or as I'd like to claim, because of) our hushed volume, I squeak instead of say, "Uh...sure, you're fine."

And so he stays for a while, looking down into my eyes as if to admire them in the nearly non-existent light. And any other night if you had asked me about this coming in my future, I'd have laughed. I probably would have blushed first, but I would've laughed. This sort of thing doesn't happen to me. I wonder if the otter can see that in my eyes.

Despite his power over me derived from his position, he does nothing to abuse it. He doesn't lean down to kiss me anymore than he actually pins my shoulders. This is closer to the distance two people stay at after a hug, only, I feel like he won't come that close either. His body is mostly elevated over mine, but by the time it comes to our tails, his is wrapped a few times around mine in, as far as I could tell, common otter courtesy. It may have been the only fur-on-fur contact at the time, but I could feel this seriously uncomfortable bundle of nerves and heat rising in me that far surpassed anything my slight social anxiety had produced before.

I gulp, and I'm not sure the movie ambiance covers it. His head tilts out of obvious curiosity and concern, but he doesn't yet move. I don't want to tell him to, either. What do I really want?

Clearly the otter is having a similar internal struggle, but I'm not sure if it is out of decency to me or if he's just never approached someone this way. I remain staring up into the reflections of light I'm going to call his eyes, and he continues to gaze over me. Besides his tall silhouette covering most of my light, enough of me is illuminated by occasional bursts of light from the projector. The otter rests his paws on my chest, and I wonder if he can hear my heart pounding as fast as it is.

"Are you nervous?" Oh. He can.

I nod slightly and gulp again. It was a fair question and it deserved a fair answer. My only issue at this point is that I don't want him to think I'm too hard to nail down. After all, on a scale of absolutely straight guy to fishnet-and-blowjobs clubbing gay guy, I'm just behind the closeted straight guy. I'm almost the hardest one to go after, and as many times as I try to convince myself otherwise, it never seems to be a good trait.

The paws occupying my chest start to move slowly up and down my small chest, eventually ranging from just above my navel right on top of my fluffy chest. Despite it usually being a manly thing to have defined chest fur, I've always found it to be a far more feminine accentuation on my body. I close my eyes and lose myself somewhere far away from the present.

Then some lights come up, and the after-movie chatter that I only noticed after it was missing, did its corresponding disappearing act. I also only noticed I was purring softly after I stopped.

The otter gets himself off from me hastily, but not so much out of guilt as much as under the stares and gapes from our friends, including Scarlet most particularly. The sergal's look quickly shifted into some sort of hurt, but between the blood lost to my ears and the water suddenly clouding my vision, I couldn't be bothered to notice.

In fact, there was scarcely time to say a word before I bolted from the place, silent and upset. I couldn't yet determine if my feeling of betrayal stemmed from myself or from the otter. Or maybe even from my friends who, despite not laughing, made me feel extraordinarily ashamed.

It was a short drive home through the bright lights and sudden speeds incurred by my bleary eyesight. I didn't look back once.

A few days later...

"Honestly, Max. I didn't want to see you be so upset. With how you stormed out, everyone thought you were actually hurt or something. We all felt concerned for you. The shock on everyone's faces was... I guess I can see how that was pretty rude. We just never thought... I never thought you'd do something like that. I don't think I've ever heard a story of you kissing a guy yet. Is that what happened? Were you two about to? Was it...more? Please, call me back."

I sigh softly. I already have returned the call, but listening to the message again and again makes me...reflective. Not only was there confusion on everyone else's side of what was happening, but there is a lot still on mine. Where was I going with that? So what if I do like him?

I shake my head again, taking a swig of water. Thoughts rarely seem worth the trouble they cause. Did our feral ancestors really have it that bad? No lingering doubts to tear them down, no emotional storm clouds of regret. Basically, only actions and their consequences.

Thought doesn't change that. There still only exists what I decide to do what others do in reaction to it. Thought only complicates things. Thought makes me wonder why I have such a complex about the...whatever that party cuddling thing was. Thought makes me doubt a quick and dirty relationship with the otter, since other thoughts told me that the only constructive piece that could come of our togetherness would be just that. Thought made me wear my black collar today.

I head out for Scar's house again, since apparently he really wanted to talk to me. I figured a while ago that talking to anyone else about this would help a lot more than sitting at home recalling events like some retired soldier. After all, getting a second opinion on all of these swirling thoughts could be a perk all on its own. Everyone has reached out to me recently and asked if I wanted to talk about things. All but the otter.

I guess what I really want is to figure out what it is I'm looking for. Even were I to have full-out kissed and made out with the guy, would I be feeling any less embarrassed, any less unsure, any less lonely? Loneliness is truly one of the biggest feelings here, and it hasn't come by without plenty of its friends to visit.

I ring the doorbell to his house with a trembling paw and a heart that feels surprisingly hollow in some odd catastrophe of confusion. I clear my throat a few time preemptively, speaking out loud to myself to try to correct the squeaks ahead of time.

Though his eyes are red, the sergal's ears are perked and his tail is swaying happily behind him when the door flies open. "Hey there, Max! Glad to see you! I haven't seen anyone else since that night. Did you have fun?" I quirk my head because I'm honestly lost.

...He does remember what happened, right? "It was a pretty crazy night. I can't believe how long we played." I invite myself in, but the sergal's soft-looking form stood away from the door anyway. He watches casually as I rub off my feet, then he leads the way over to his kitchen.

I'm sure his mother was in love with the real estate deal the moment she saw that room. Spacious, naturally lit, hardwood floors, and a generously sized island decorated the place. It was the kind of kitchen one could film a cooking show in. The sergal nonchalantly takes a seat by propping himself up onto the island before inviting me to sit next to him.

Despite his cool house and cool friends and cool life, Scar has some pretty protective family. More specifically, the mother who may or may not be obsessed with big kitchens. More out of precaution than his own principles, Scarlet makes people wait until his mom can see them, upon which occasion she scrutinizes them like a criminal lineup of one. If they make the check (which wasn't something I had heard of not happening), then they go free. She still doesn't allow him to be out of sight with a girl. She has no clue he couldn't be bothered with the opposite sex.

"Good evening, Maximilian. How have you been lately?"

I nod courteously. Who speaks like that? My own parents don't even call me Maximilian. "I've been doing just fine, Mrs. Wynters. Nothing new, since it's summer and stuff."

She nods as well, but the awkward silence left in the wake of her nonresponse is more of a frightful one. It seems as if the air goes quiet because she wills it so. "Well, don't let me stop you two. No violent video games for too long. Do you understand, Scarlet?" I should also mention that both of Scar's parents are normal black sergals. Nobody knows where the freak red gene came from. I'm sure for a while there were some accusations about cheating, but those probably dissolved against Mrs. Wynters' hard gaze.

Scarlet grunts something noncommittal in reply, but it's enough for her to let us go. Scar hauls us up some stairs to his room, quietly closing his door. "Why the care? We won't exactly wake anyone up at 2 in the afternoon."

He chuckles and nods. "Right, but she'll wonder what we're doing that requires a closed door if she hears it." His eyes look tired, but I can't remember if they were doing that before he brought up his mother.

I nod. Fair point. Wait... "...What are we doing that needs a closed door?"

He frowns as he looks back at me. "I'm sorry, that probably looked worse than I wanted. I just meant that I wanted to talk to you about that party, and she isn't going to really like hearing about an otter on top of you who also happened to be male. Or the bits about the very same otter flirting with me all night and kissing me." He doesn't mention the fact that the two are basically a couple to my knowledge. Then again, I don't know much about that.

I relax, the reasoning sounding a lot better than 'Don't tell mom.' "Yeah, I guess that wouldn't go over extremely well. Where should we start? I'm sure I'm just as confused as you are, honestly."

The sergal really ought to do something with his insane knack for dealing with other people, particularly emotions. He never told us what he decided to major in. Just the fact that he could figure out my discomfort was from the door is only one piece of proof. I'm sure I'll walk out re-convinced that he's magical. He stays standing for a while as he thinks, but I'd already hopped onto his bed. It was a queen and I made sure to leave space if he wanted to sit down too. "Let's start with the basics. You know you're into guys, right?"

"Affirmative, captain. Straight as a rainbow."

He smirks, then his eyes return to a space over my head. "Alright. Who have you had feelings for before? Fleeting things, even. Any space of time where you thought, even for a second, about being romantically involved." I hesitate for a while. "And you know me. I've never had anything to gain from gossiping. You'd have known before now if I had spilled on some things you tell me."

I blush lightly, and his soft eyes on me shift as he pushes off from the wall he leaned on to sit close to me. His eyes frequently float about to the original pieces of art on his walls, mostly from street vendors as I recall. I take in a deep breath. "Wow, okay. I guess I've thought about him before, and a couple of those stupid people back up at the school..."

He nods, established next to me, the space between our seated positions friendly. "Right... Anyone particularly important?"

I gulp and run my paws along the opposite arms as they belong to. "Ah, well, I guess I need to include you, too." I don't know if I was waiting for him to ask about himself, in which idea he seems more conceded than he really is. Maybe I just wanted glaze over my real feelings. I can't go in that way very much longer. It's killing me.

He starts blushing lightly in the whites of his ears, but he takes things in stride. "You don't have to flirt in order to make this free trip free."

There's got to be pink in my own ears as I quietly tell him, "I wasn't laying it on thick, Scar. I've thought about you before. You're not going to try to tell me you haven't done the same about me, are you?"

He squirms a little, his eyes pulled to mine. "First of all, that's not fair; I've given every gay guy at least a few seconds of thought." I raise my eyebrow. "...And some straight ones. Secondly, anyone who doesn't tell you, fox, that they think of you is lying. You're far too cute to not want to hug and squeeze." No sense of mockery or anything malicious can be found in his presence. Such an honest compliment makes me want to hug him instead.

My chest feels a little lighter, and by now we're both pretty shy looking between floppy ears and darting glances. There's some silence for a while, and both of us are locked into each other's gazes. "Had you kissed anyone before that, Scar?"

He knows exactly what I was talking about, and nods. "Oh, yeah. My first kiss was so forgettable that it was my mom who thinks it was with some other pretty sergal girl."

"Was it?"

He grimaces. "Sure, I guess. I don't count it. Wrong gender, y'know? I prefer to count this senior from three years ago who finally helped me a little out of my shell. That's why I'd rather count that, but I can't exactly tell everyone else the same story."

I make a mental note to ask about that later. I've known Scar for what seems like forever, but I know very little about his personal life. I'm sure a big part of that has to do with how he keeps check of idle gossip running out his lesser-known details. "How about you?" he asks.

I'm pulled out of my reverie, slightly disoriented. "What?"

His eyes are level with mine, appearing older and wiser despite our negligible age difference. They're very warm and fluid, but honest as they peer into my heart. Of course now there's laughter in them, and it tells more than the actual actions he's taken to this point. "Your first kiss. Was he cute?"

That happy, light feeling in my chest sours the slightest bit. My disposition gets a little closer to the grimace status. "No, he...I..." I sigh. "It doesn't exist. I haven't kissed anybody before." I watch the calculated apologies fly through the sergal's eyes, and clearly he didn't mean to bring up a sore subject. It still hurts a little. "I never try to think too hard about it because I don't want it to mean as much to me as it does to a lot of people. I'm not some living literary piece. I don't want my first kiss to be some sort of deep, meaningful--"

To say I hadn't seen it coming would be a lie. To say I was any more ready to deal with it, the consequences, or the resulting squeak that got caught between our muzzles would be a lie as well. The biggest lie of them all would be to say I didn't enjoy the hell out of it. His paw catches mine and squeezes reassuringly, prompting me at the same time to pull away if it's too much.

My eyes were wide open when he started, but as I saw his were closed in a dedicated quest, I eventually fell victim to the numerous overwhelming sensations he was subjecting me to. Surprise faded into reciprocation, embarrassment bled over into passion, meaning fell over into a present-based mindset. And presently, I could feel nothing but how much I wanted the sergal to continue. Some strained whimper-moan was the result of that feeling, and Scar paws at my chest slightly hesitantly, only making me realize he was trying to untangle from me when he finally does a little bit of a push.

We separate with a simultaneous gasp for air and confused looks abound. Neither of us speak for a long time. Long enough for us to finally catch our breath. I guess I didn't realize how long we were kissing, or maybe just the surprise element meant neither of us were that ready for a good kiss.

"I take back suggesting you should be a therapist."

He bites his lip, his eyes looking concerned and apologetic. "Why's that?"

I smile, but I'm not sure how invested it is. "You normally don't get away with kissing patients."

He nods thoughtfully. "But neither do you normally have such attractive patients who clearly need to be kissed." He grins at me when the statement makes me blush again. "And yet, I sense that something else is also bothering you. Would you have rather kissed the otter?"

I think for a while about that. From everything I know at a neutral standpoint, Scar has always been a much more decent person to show any kind of emotion around. He's empathetic and caring, and frequently knows more about my thought process than I do.

And as far as Luke goes, I couldn't know less about how he treats people that are important to him. He doesn't seem very judgmental, but he also never seems very positively responsive to anyone talking about their dreams or crushes or fantasies. People like him, even though it isn't his intent, are a part of what kept me both in the closet for a while and afraid to ever admit to anyone who I like. Now I'm afraid to admit crushes to myself, let alone to Scar.

I look back into Scarlet's eyes. "No. I can say that for sure."

He nods back. "Okay. That's progress." We're silent again for a while. His paw, still in mine, gently squeezes. "Can you tell me what you're thinking right now?"

After a while longer, I answer, "I don't know. I...I really enjoyed that--"

"Amen."

"--but at the same time, I don't know what that means. I've never thought about dating you." My eyes fell in slight shame over the course of my speech. Dang. And to be so blunt. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

He lifts my chin. "Start with what you know, because we've discovered that all of this line of thinking is very unusual for you. You know that the party was sort've eye-opening and that possibly you might have feelings for Luke." He pauses, waiting to catch my eyes again. "And you also know that I just gave you your first kiss. It was a surprise instead of being 'deep and meaningful' like you were afraid of." There's more smiling reflected in his eyes.

He's overloading me. I feel on the verge of some overwhelming emotional discovery, but between his proximity physically and the new memory he just carved out for me, my chest feels tight, constricting the sweet feeling all the time. I look to him helplessly. He looks disappointed, but nods his understanding. "Alright, I'll stop. That wasn't fair of me to do to you. You can take a little while for yourself if you wanna, and--"

Okay, so I'm not going to try to tell you that I have any sort of rational thought process left. I have this feeling that acting on my emotions for once would be a good idea. So...I interrupted him the same way he did me. It doesn't last as long as the one from before, but he can see my point. When I pull away this time, he smiles at me again. "Okay. Eloquently put." We both giggle a while. I catch sight of him at the tail end of licking his lips idly. "Alright, here's the deal. We leave things where they are for now. You approach me if you think of something more or if you're just curious. I'll be a safe person for you."

I wonder absently when the discussion shifted so far from the otter to the sergal, but I fail to ask. Still attributing things to that dulled part of my mind for now, as excuse-ridden as it may sound. I nod my understanding, and he keeps this really ridiculous grin on his face for the longest time. Between his constantly refined, soft eyes and his gentle temperament, I couldn't think of anyone else I'd have a lot of firsts with.

...And I know now that my hesitation isn't about what I don't want to do. It's about what I do want to do. I grin back at the sergal, though I'm sure it doesn't come without a shy lilt to my ears.

---

Well there's a part one for you! I have this originally planned for four, with each being a new take on what effect that very peculiar night had on several others. This story is cute for a one-off, but I intend for there to be a lot more soul-searching out of some characters who don't have things as simple as Max here.

And as my journal from earlier suggested, I'm open to seeing what I could manage as far as requests go! Why not PM me an idea?

Thanks for reading!