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Alois shuffled and rolled over in the cold sheets, barely awake in the grey early morning. With the stale air and last night's dinner bland and thick on his breath, he leaned a paw over to the other half of the bed. It was empty; damnation, he'd promised not to this year! But like a poor lovestruck fool, the fox had believed him. With a tearful sigh he rolled onto his back and pulled the duvet up to his muzzle, whipping his tail back in from the chill.

Was it worth getting up? It was gonna' be another Christmas morning alone until fuckwit would stagger home drunk and demand paws only knows what. Drink, sex... whether Alois wanted any of that or not.

Screw getting up... was it worth even being here?

Through the sickly gloom, he could see out into their lounge. He'd spent so much time decorating their little tree whilst Brandon had slept off another binge. The vicious dog had still managed to give Al a kick in the stomach for not having any more alcohol in the house before stumbling off to bed.

The fox felt a troubled paw down across his slender, white-furred tummy, wincing even now as he held himself. He'd made him bleed; there was no excuse for Brandon anymore. Alois inched his tail up and cuddled it close, as warm as he could manage under the duvet.

The false three-foot-something pine now glowed in plastic reds and amethysts beside the long front window, Alois's squinted sight smudging the colour half through tiredness and tears. He'd promised himself that he wouldn't cry; and as much as his heart ached all the more at the sight of just those two very neatly wrapped presents, he bit his muzzle into the duvet and screwed up his eyes.

Poor fox had been so discerning in his little shopping trips; and although deep down he knew that Brandon would be selfish and thoughtless enough to completely 'forget' to reciprocate, he wrapped each offering ever so carefully and paw-wrote each label 'with love'.

With love? Huh! Alois even scoffed at his own brave devotion. The note was either so very cruelly ironic or just blindly desperate.

And so the pair of gifts he'd bought his absent lover sat alone; just like him. Alone. Again!

#####################

'I think you've had enough, mate!'

Jack knew that look in the haggard, tipsy dog's eyes. He'd run the 'Pith and Rind' freehouse in Panatara for well over twenty years, and had known Brandon for all of those two decades and more. He'd always said that it was a bittersweet deal, because as much as he strangely appreciated the dobe handing over his benefit money every single, mortal day, he and everyone else knew how much of a deadbeat he really was.

Brandon's muzzle evolved into a drunken, sleepy smile, his paws slumped atop the bar; he always kept himself to himself at the very far end of the pub, away from the tables and the chatter and the laughter. Christmas at the 'Pith and Rind' was always very festive, but Brandon's black, depressed scent stood out a mile amidst the red glow of all the other happy tails. You didn't need to see him; you could smell his down-n-out tail from the other side of the city.

He was wearing the same navy polo shirt he'd had on for the past week. There were vomit and blood stains that darkened both muzzle and paws. Where his under-muzzle should've been a healthy truffly brown, Brandon was greying; and this same colour streaked right through his scent, his tail and his ears.

Cubs and families kept their distance from his dreary, stinking tail, with the smells of traditional Vulpic roast chicken dishes starting to overpower his misery. The chilly city breeze would cool over the stuffy innards whenever the pub door was opened, no more so when a slight vulp inched his way in whilst carrying a huge plastic crate of nommy goodies. Fraser was the local baker who delivered wares to the pub every weekday; from sweet leaves and stone-baked chicken, through to cured ham pastries and cute little cheese-bread foxes, his business accommodated every taste from modern to traditional with great success.

Almost tripping his way through, he let the tray thunk thankfully to the bar.

"Paws alive, that was heavy!" Fraser breathed a sigh of relief as he leant himself to the sides of the crate.

Jack lifted the Lincoln green cloth that covered the food, his muzzle almost snuffling through the irresistible aroma.

"Something extra for the missus." Fraser pointed over at the very neatly wrapped beef wellingtons, sat piled on top of one another in the corner of the box, "my treat, mate!" "You know the way to a vixen's heart huh?!" "Oh if I stopped cooking, I'd be on the streets." Fraser winked and giggled as he wiped his paws on his off-white apron, before reaching around to unwrap the bandage that held his little card payment machine to the middle of his tail, "and as it's Christmas, it's all yours for middling red five for five."

Fraser tapped away at his scented device, working out how much colour to charge his most valued patron, as Jack reached for his battered, moth-eaten card. It was only as the fox reached the machine out to receive his customer's scent, that he noticed the slumped, dark smell of the dog still sat at the far end of the bar.

"How long has he been here?" Fraser nodded in the dobe's direction. "Who, Brandon? Since we opened. The daft fuck!" "But.... you've been open since seven this morning. It's Christmas for paws' sake." "Oh you don't have to tell me that, mate." Jack withdrew his card after it had transferred just the right amount of scent colour from his business account, "I dunno why Al puts up with him."

The baker shook his head with an exhausted sadness now heavy in his muzzle.

"I'll... I'll come back for the crate in the new year." Fraser murmured as he shook Jack's paw, and wandered solemnly over to that pitifully slumped form.

He wrapped his card machine back to the middle of his tail, and inched himself onto a stool right next to the stupor and the stupidity that was a dog he knew so so well.

"Brandon? Brandon, it's me Fraser."

That dark muzzle lifted from the damp dregs and the cigarette ash, coming from the surrounds of so many beer-soaked lenses. The dobe's smile was completely sozzled, eyes not staying still for a single second like clothiers' buttons floating around in glasses of milk.

"Hu.... heeeeey. Hey, frox. Glazier my friend" "It's Fraser."

There was just an inane, insensible smile in reply. He was totally out of it.

"Paws alive Brandon, how many of these fucking things have you had?!" "I..... I...... how.. how's Shurel....... Shrella?" "My mate? Surella is just fine, thank you Brandon. Now what about yours, huh? Where's Alois?"

Brandon shrugged and started to giggle, before his black-truffle paw crawled over the bar like a drunk, obese tarantula making for one of the half empty pint glasses.

"Ah ah ah! No chance sunshine!" Fraser quickly took the glass away from his drunk friend, leaving the dobe most perturbed like a cub who'd had his favourite toy taken away, "no more of that. Now answer me... where's Al? You haven't left him at home again have you?"

Brandon just evolved from a giggly nonsense through to an angry growl, as he stumbled off his stool and started padding towards the door. Well, padding in the broadest sense of the word; if you didn't know the background to him and this whole charade, it could've been seen as hilarious. After swishing past the serried rows of tables and chairs and having picked a fight with the lampshade near the far window, Brandon stumbled his way out into the cold with Fraser close behind. Jack just shook his head and laughed; he wasn't sure even the best of friends could change him.

---

"Oh for fuck sake!" Fraser exclaimed as he saw Brandon lose his balance, the dobe slipping and taking a glancing blow across the side of his muzzle from the concrete window sill.

And now he was just sat there, blood dripping down onto the frosted pavement, his head lolling and still giggling like the stupid waste of fur he was.

Fraser squatted down and, having reached for some tissues in his pocket, dabbed at the side of Brandon's muzzle to staunch the graze.

"Leave... leave me alone!" Brandon swiped a paw at Fraser's, trying to bat away the now blood-soaked clump of paper. "Stop being so fuckin' selfish and stupid. Paws above, you need a good fuckin' kick up the tail. Why are you doin' this to yourself, Brandon huh?!" "Go... g'way. I don't want... go 'way!" And now he was trying to shuffle himself to his footpaws, shrugging back into the cold brick wall as he tried to use it as a ladder; but he was far too far gone for that, and was soon back on his backside.

He looked fuckin' pathetic; and Fraser told him so.

My goodness, this was all a million miles away from how they'd started life together. Fraser, Brandon and Alois had all gone to school together; and as much as the dobe had felt an outsider, being a dog in a Vulpic school, he'd been intelligent and handsome enough to break through without drifting into a miserly, loner's lifestyle.

No one could ever have guessed that this someone who'd overcome adversity so beautifully, someone who'd seamlessly fitted in with his peers no matter the fur colour would end up an unemployed, alcoholic abuser. But Fraser knew a little more about his background than he guessed Brandon thought; but even he would be guessing.

The dobe was from a modest background; his father had moved the family to Shof from Ekomush in the Canic States of G'haut after securing a job in the vulpic capital. He was an only pup, and couldn't have been more proud of his heritage; although Fraser always admired him for how humble he was at the same time. Brandon really had been the perfect friend; reliable, honest and supportive. Paws almighty, no one would argue with that stare!

But all the humbleness and pleasant, polite demeanour was a mask. It was a mask that belonged to a young dog who idolised his father, to the point that he constantly grew up and subsequently lived in his shadow. Very few of the guys at school had ever seen his parents; but Fraser had. He saw Brandon being picked up by his Dad one afternoon after school, and it was eerie. Fuck, 'e was huge; broad, imposing and dark. Must've been six foot seven, perhaps more; and the way that his pup approached him as he was standing by the car was scary, the evolution of a happy muzzle to a submissive, miserable glaze as he padded closer. It was all so desperately frightening.

It was almost like the school and his friends were giving him away at the end of every week day, gifting him into the paws of a dictator.

It was only when Brandon and Alois became an item that Fraser learned more. The dobe would almost beg to stay with Alois overnight, almost every day; and as much as the young fox was more than happy with that, all the pain and the anguish of being with his father started to come out. It wasn't long before he confided in his closest pals at school that his Dad had lost his job, and was finding solace in the bottom of a bottle; and that was everybody else's fault of course. He'd played the race card and tried to convince Brandon that it was foxes, those of red fur, that had caused all his woes.

It didn't matter whether his pup complied with his twisted, deluded opinions, because now Brandon was being hit, beaten about the muzzle and the tail, sworn at and there was no telling how else his father slung his huge weight around in private. Best not to think about it.

Unsurprisingly, his parents then went separate ways and his father went even further downhill; but still he remained loyal. It was almost as though Brandon had Stockholm Syndrome in his blood and breath. He went home more and more often which was terribly unusual, to the point of worshipping the lazy, useless fuck.

Brandon was only pulled away from this hellhole when Alois's parents paid for their own cub to have a flat on the other side of Panatara; and with that came an invitation for his boyfriend to move in. Alois hadn't said much about the day they went to rescue his poor, fractured mate-to-be; he was still just a young dog after all, and this was just tearing him apart. There were rumours of slanging matches, verbal and physical. Some said that Alois's father Andre had had to stand between the two warring dobermen; being a five foot something vulp between these two charged, hulks of canine must've been like being a fox-sandwich of the very worst and most unfortunate kind. There was a lot of black scent on Blue Street, Panatara that afternoon.

His father wanted him there to buy him his poison and sit at his footpaws all day, every day like a dutiful, love-blind pup.

Brandon wanted the same; but this is what he'd been told to want. He'd started to blur reality with masochistic devotion.

They weren't about to let Brandon ruin his life. If his father wanted to drink his tail to death, that was fine; but abusing his own pup for his own failings was something that made your fur turn grey to just listen to the endurance alone.

But since then, it had seemed as though Alois and Brandon had settled into a quiet life together although there was never a sign of proposal which Fraser had always found quite odd. Considering time and the clear love between the two, it was obviously an indicator that something still wasn't right.

Brandon became a tail groomer, but was fired after two years in the job when bosses found that he was coming to work drunk or high, or both. Stealing liquid scent to get off at work was the final straw and he was out on his ear. Fraser took pity on him when he padded into his workplace looking for work, and took the dobe on as a waiter. Before opening his bakery, the vulp had started out as a waiter in his own father's business, the upscale, three-tail rated 2wo restaurant in the Hiroton area of the city. He progressed through to eventually manage the place alongside his parents and had originally been thrilled to have an old school friend on the frontline.

But it was clear that Brandon wasn't right. He started to turn up late, hung-over or still drunk. Bottles of expensive musk wine, Derno liqueur and whole slabs of lupic butter had started to go missing whilst he was on shift. Brandon was an excellent employee; when he was sober enough to stand. Fraser had become concerned when he saw the top of the dobe's tail bleeding which was a sign of gland disintegration; but this had been rebuffed as having fallen over in the car park.

He was literally killing himself on his paws. His scent was breaking up and fading, and there was no sign of him being able to stop this self-destruction. As much as Fraser cared for him, his behaviour had become too much; and when Brandon made a pass at a male fox sat with his girlfriend for dinner one night, Fraser was left with no choice but to send him home for good.

And that was heartbreaking enough, because by now, Alois had been in touch and was opening up about the dobe's behaviour at home. How Brandon was becoming abusive and downright nasty; even violent.

He was becoming his father.

This whole saga rattled through Fraser's pounding head as he helped Brandon to his paws; the dog was so out of it now, that he'd given up the fight and was almost out cold. The fox kicked the latch to his van's back door, and heaved the dead-weight dobe onto the bare wooden floor. He had some explaining to do.

---

"Aghh fuck, my head"

Brandon sat there, leant against the cold tile wall and winced, putting a bloody paw to his sore, pounding head. It was only as he came to that he realised that his fur was sopping wet and he was naked.

"What... what the fuck is this?!" He growled in disbelief, punctuated only by a whine of pain from his stinking hangover.

The dobe was sat on a bench in a white-tiled shower cubicle, his footpaws dabbing to the dimpled turquoise floor. He looked out and around into the bathroom, hearing only silence and smelling but weak strains of dried blood, vomit and lemon soap. All he could feel was the throb of his head, exacerbated by the really strong bathroom light, and the uncomfy feeling of damp fur all over.

He was cold, confused and angry; just wanted to go home.

"Well hey there" The panelled door suddenly opened and a bright young vixen strode in, her right forepaw draped in a plump cotton bath towel.

"Oh shit!" Brandon comically scrambled to cover his modesty, crossing his footpaws, almost to tie himself in knots to hide from this strange female. "Nothin' I ain't seen before, trust me!" The vulp had a wry smile on her muzzle as she fed the towel over the heated rail, and padded back to the door, "Fraser honey? Fraser? Your little project's sobered up."

It was only now that Brandon could squint through the pain and recognise all this.

"Thank you, honey tail." Fraser appeared, a pair of reading glasses perched on his muzzle, "if you can give us five minutes or so that would be great."

Surella smiled and nuzzled her mate, before padding away down the stairs leaving Fraser with Brandon in this awkward sterile washroom. The vulp paused for a sec with a brave smile on his maw, before taking off his glasses, wandering in and locking the door behind him.

"I figured you needed a good wash and a good firm kick up the tail." "What gives you the right to do this to me?!" Brandon slipped to his paws, and stood there in the cubicle growling at his former friend.

Fraser grinned, padding over to the shower and coming muzzle to muzzle with Brandon.

"Sit... the fuck... down!" "Make me!" Brandon snarled.

The vulp padded back, that sly smile still carved into his muzzle; and now he was rummaging around in his right trouser pocket to eventually put a paw on a small transparent plastic card.

"You really don't know what all this is, do you?" "You fucking kidnapped me and are holding me against my will. You have no right, damnit!" "Just like you don't have a right to do what you do to poor Alois." "Oh please!" Brandon rolled his eyes and huffed, "just gimme my fucking clothes and let me go home!"

And now the dobe was trying to pad out of the shower to make for the door. But Fraser was not having any of it, and pushed the dog back into the cubicle, slumping him to his seat.

"You're going nowhere!" Fraser stood at the cubicle door, and now held that little plastic card against the glass wall.

Brandon had, in that split second, made to jump up and fucking maul what he could see as this obstructive, self-important vulp; this was until that card hit the glass, and a swarm of black colour swam across the walls. It smoked out all the light, surrounding Brandon in a dark-lit emotion that was so so painful, moreso than the bright bathroom light versus his hangover.

"What the.... what is this?"

Fraser backed off, the card left stuck fast to the wet shower screen, and padded over to sit on the side of the bath. It was another of those situations that would've been funny to witness had the hearts involved not known of all the rough times that had preceded it. The vulp sat there, staring at his bemused friend and watching as the swirls of colour grew then faded, grew then faded, striking weak shadows across the dobe's fur like milky raindrops hitting a coffee cloak.

Because that's all this was; a cloak, a mask, a dog hiding from all the hurt he had inside and all the pain he caused as a result. And now he was paralysed by the hypnotic scent coming from the glass; the dark, the sadness, the tears and the fear.

"You know who that is don't you? That smell. That petrified, depressed smell." Fraser murmured, his stern stare focussing away from his perturbed captive.

Brandon's muzzle sniffled and hovered, his aching head now recognising precisely who's scent colour was swirling about him.

"This.... this is how much you've broken him. D'you even know how much you hurt him?" "I... I..." The stammer was no longer alcohol-driven, and now the dobe's fur was shivering and spiking in the rapidly chilling water. "Yep, you're right. It's always been about you, hasn't it Brandon?!"

There was now just a silence between them. Brandon's fur became colder; he could now feel each droplet of water slide across each strand of his unkempt suede skin, like iced needles striating and scratching through to bare, raw guilt.

"You're sitting in a Tecunus shower. It's something only those that are in love are intended to buy and use. So I thought it rather prophetic that I should bring you back here and sling your useless tail in with the feelings and suicidal scent of the one you profess to love." Fraser got up and padded over, paws in his pockets, "all the messages, all the signals that poor Al has sent us are in that glass right now. All those tears and all those times he's called me and begged for counsel on how to deal with you."

The dobe was almost shrivelling in this freezing air, crouching his footpaws up towards his chest to sit in a near foetal position on the cold bench.

"You're awful quiet for someone who's so keen on telling a lovestruck, defenceless young vulp how useless he is. How pathetic and stupid he is. How his only use in life is a punching bag for your twisted neuroses." Fraser knelt down, turning his head to look up into the dobe's hidden eyes and quietening his voice to a whisper, "you're the pathetic one. You're the useless one, you know that?! Look at you. Fucking coward!"

Brandon squeezed his eyes shut, his ears pinning and desperately trying to close out not only to Fraser's inquisition, but to all the black-scented emotion, all the crying and trembled voices that he could hear echoing in this strange glass prison. It was Alois.

"Whenever I chat with him, he always has another bruise on his muzzle, or isn't feeling so good cos' you've lashed out because you haven't got your own way." The vulp was still there, crouching closer. He wasn't letting this go, "are you a grown dog or are you just a pup, huh? Tell me Brandon, come on!"

"Just... just let me go home." And this was a whimper now. No growl, no defence; and now that black muzzle was silhouetted in a damp smudge against the tiles with his yellow eyes dulled and pained. "You know what's happening here don't you? You're becoming your father." "I am not!" Brandon suddenly leant out of his sulk to remonstrate, easing his footpaws back to the shower well and leaning down to snarl at Fraser, "I am not like him. Ever, ever" "Really?" His friend just smiled wryly, leaning back on his haunches, "You don't work, you're lazy, you're a drunk and you punch and kick your mate-to-be. You're so so mean to him."

Just silence. Brandon was left to stare with hollow power at Fraser, a paw gesturing forward as if to try and reinforce his innocence; but he knew very well he was right.

"Sounds like your Dad to a tee. But I dunno..." The vulp shrugged and got to his footpaws, padding back to sit on the edge of the bath, "you tell me."

"I don't... I don't mean to." Brandon mumbled as he sat back up on the sodden slats of the bench, his paws strained to his knees and his head hung in defeat, "I don't want to be like him." "If you don't want to become him Brandon, you're gonna have to stop all this. And I mean, right now." Fraser wiped his paws dry on a handy flannel and crossed his footpaws, "Al stays because he really loves you. He's so soft and sweet because he thinks you'll change. He's convinced you can be how you always used to be. You know he's head over tail for you... and you take advantage of that like the filthy, selfish tail you are."

"I love him too, Fraser. I really..." "Well for fuck sake start showing it then!" The vulp let his anger bubble into a chesty growl that had Brandon staring at him with folded ears and a completely chastised look.

It was true; at least, if Brandon had had that little thought for Alois, he could've pushed Fraser aside, hurt him even, to get out the door and down the street ages ago. But no sooner had the glass been tainted, he'd been transfixed to his terrible domestic abuse. It said something for the good heart and tail that still begged for salvation inside him.

"It just beggars belief that you could leave him alone on Christmas morning. It really does. I mean, have you even got him anything?"

Brandon just slumped to the wall and shook his head, his eyes closing. The shower head dripped onto his lean, scarred muzzle, feathering a tear-like stream down to his nose. Or were they tears? Perhaps Fraser had become too cynical in his old age; it was just hard to believe that this hardened doberman could show any form of true humility or emotion.

"The last time we spoke, Alois and I, I asked him what he wanted, what he truly wanted out of his life." Fraser's stare was all rather nostalgic and fixed in the mirror opposite him, almost smiling, "and d'you know what he said?"

Brandon shook his head again.

"He said that he wanted you, just you. But he wanted the old you, not this nasty, abusive thing you'd become over the past few years." The fox turned his head to his soaked friend, "he wants you back, Brandon. But only if you change. That's what your smelling now. Our last conversation together. Be grateful it's even the slightest shade of red. That's your hope and future right there, my friend."

The dobe closed his eyes, screwed them tight as his ears and his nostrils now heard it all, felt it and smelled it all. The pale, pinkish swirl in the glass hovered for a second before fading again, taking its happiness and pleasure with it.

"Poor Al just wants normality back, Brandon. He has feelings and needs and dreams just like you. He wants the paw-holding, he wants the cuddles, he...." Fraser smiled and padded over again, squatting down in front of the cubicle and laying a paw on the dobe's left knee, "d'you know what he said to me? He said, 'Fraser I've always wanted to go to the Isle of Leaves with Brandon. Spend some time padding along the beach with Brandon. Cuddling Brandon in the summer sunshine'. Brandon, Brandon, Brandon; you're all he can talk about, ever. He's so desperately in love with you, ya' silly dog! I don't want to see you ruin this and ruin him. Actually, scratch that! I won't let you ruin this."

There was now a shy smile and a sniffle and a cough, of a dog brought down to earth with a bump.

"Hey! And don't even tell me you don't feel the same way." Fraser mellowed and held a paw against the dobe's damp muzzle. They were tears, "Cos' I know under this fuckin' stubborn exterior is someone who really really wants to change." "I... I do. I really do." "You know it shouldn't have taken me to tell you all this, right?" "I know. I'm... I'm sorry." "Hey, it's not me you should be saying sorry to, mate. But we'll clear that up real soon, OK?" "OK" Brandon smiled and muffled a brave reply, wiping his nose to his wrist and flicking his dagger ears free of water droplets.

"Daddy?" The bathroom door had squeaked open and there, stood nervously, was Fraser's five year-old only cub twizzling a shy footpaw. He was wearing cute little sleep shorts and a tail warmer, with his Duras pendant settled in his chest fur; he was carrying a little fox plushie in his paws too.

"Hey there, buuky!" Fraser turned on his haunches, whilst Brandon quickly grabbed at a towel to cross it over his lap, "come on in, don't be scared."

The little fox padded nervously in, slow at first, before dashing the last few feet into his father's paws.

"You off to bed?"

His cub just nodded, snuffling into that comforting fur full of the scents of baked bread, home and that distinctly sweet smell of his Dad.

"You gonna' say goodnight to Uncle Brandon?"

The cub braved to look up at the imposing dobe sat now with a mellow smile in the shower cubicle.

"G'night" He whispered quickly, before snuggling back into his father's grasp. "Goodnight" Brandon replied with a wave of his paw. He could feel the tears start again; he'd never had a Dad like that. "You cute thing you. You head off to bed now like a good cub OK?" "'K" "Daddy will be in in a minute to read you a story." Fraser touched noses with his young son, "goodnight Brandon."

The little cub smiled and padded away over the tiles, and out onto the landing towards his bedroom. And now you could feel and smell the astonishment; Fraser didn't even have to look up at the dobe to know that his jaw was on the floor.

"You... you..." "Mhm." "I... I don't know what to say." "Well Surella and I had long thought over what to call our first born. And we both settled on naming him after you since you were a wonderful, loyal friend with the future at your footpaws." "I guess... I guess you regret all that now." Brandon's ears drooped again, his head hanging low, "naming your son after a deadbeat loser." "Hey, hey. No not at all." Fraser got to his paws and gave Brandon the larger, softer towel from the heated rail, "we all have our problems, Brandon but we have faith that both you and your namesake - our only son - will be the very best that you can ever be. Whether starting over with a seasoned tail or starting anew with a growing tail. We love you both."

The dog went all red in his muzzle as he dabbed and rubbed at his fur to dry himself.

"You know who else loves you? Alois. He loves you so so much. I bet he's awful lonely right now. And whether you get a real kickin' the first thing when you get in tonight, I know you are pretty much the only guy who could turn that around."

Fraser paused, before leaving the bathroom briefly. The vulp returned with a small velvet box in his paws, and an envelope tucked into his breast pocket; he sat back down on the edge of the bath as Brandon dressed. Surella had washed and dried all his clothes; his scent was becoming so much redder.

"Listen to me, Brandon. We're expanding in the new year, and I need someone to supervise the new bakery." Fraser laid the little box down and propped himself to his paws against the bath, "someone who's ambitious, confident, keen and good with customers. Oh, and someone who's alcohol and drug free too."

"Are... are you offering me..." "Well, can I count on you? Can I rely on you Brandon? I need someone who's gonna' really drive my business and get all that high grade scent in. Are you up for it?" "Well sure... I mean, yeah absolutely!" The dobe was now beaming a surprised smile from ear to ear, "I don't know what to say. You'd do all this for me?"

Fraser got to his paws and dusted off Brandon's smart black shirt.

"Oh so many call me gullible and soft. Surella included. I have had to put a lot of grovelling in with my own mate to get you this, Brandon. You just mustn't let me down, OK?" "Oh gosh, I won't. I promise. I'm... I mean, thank you. Thank you so so much." The dobe went to shake paws, but in the end fell to a cuddle with his friend, "I won't let you down." "Good." Fraser smiled and turned to pick up the little box, "cos' it won't be me you'll be answering to. It'll be Surella. And paws alive, she can be pretty nifty with a rolling pin, believe you me!"

Brandon swallowed hard, but kept that warm red feeling. His nubby little tail was going ten to the dozen, and his scent was just climbing and climbing. The alcohol was still there and the red was rather weak, but he felt so much better.

"But you my friend..." Fraser began, as he stood now facing the dobe, those yellow canine eyes now brighter, "you have to promise me one more thing. One more thing to earn you that place with me in the new year." "Sure... what... what do you want me to do?"

The vulp opened the lid of the velvet box, and inside were two lengths of pure white silken ribbon, lined and initialled in gold. They were Vulpic promise ribbons.

"For paws' sake, make an honest fox out of Alois."

Fraser handed them over to Brandon who stood there frozen, not sure how much happier he could ever feel.

"This can be your Christmas present to him." Fraser murmured, rubbing a paw across his friend's shoulders seeing the tears come again, "hey come on! Don't get upset." "No... no no. I'm not sad." Brandon mewed bravely, wiping his eyes, "and you're right. Everything you've said. I need to make things right. Al deserves a mate that'll treat him right. He deserves to see me step up to the mark." "Just remember... no more bullshit excuses Brandon. No more leaving him alone, no more stomping your footpaw if you're not getting your own way." The vulp handed over an envelope, "and I want plenty of photos, OK?"

They were a pair of air tickets to the southern tropical getaway, the Isle of Leaves.

"All I want in return is you getting your shit together, and being the best damned clean tail I could hope for. That's all I ask. Cos' you know, if I see you down at the Pith, smashed out of your head or slumped against that fucking wall again, I won't think twice but to walk away."

The bathroom had dried, tears and all. Tails were now at rest and scents reddened but serious, concentrate like a jug of blood; warmth, pride and life. Whatever wounds there had been between them had been plastered and left to heal. Only the dobe could ensure that the cut fur, sinew and soul could mend.

Smiles were exchanged before Fraser padded out and along the landing to his cub's bedroom to read him that story he'd promised, leaving Brandon at the head of the stairs; his heart was beating hard and all those nerves of what the rest of the day had in store for him were bubbling through his stomach and showing in his settled tail.

He had a long walk home to think about what he could say to possibly stick himself back together.

---

Their flat was a below street-level basement affair with black-slathered cast iron gating surrounding the entrance. Brandon stood at the head of the stairwell for minutes, perhaps an hour in the dark and the pouring rain. His muzzle was steaming a hot, nervy breath into the air, catching aromas of sodden tarmac, stale rainwater and the rubbish bag left slumped on the curb; soggy, rotten dregs of life that were doomed. Perhaps he was the same?; a useless bag of rubbish whose life was destined to be spent slouched across the dimpled paving, kicked by passing footpaws and pissed on by the drunk, the insane and the viciously-scented among them.

His drenched fur spiked like liquorice peaks where he couldn't cover himself; he'd put the box and the envelope into the back pocket of his trousers. He'd have to work his tail off to even get that far with Al, that is if he even wanted to have anything to do with him again.

He inched quietly down the stone stairs, and put his key to the latch, fumbling to find it in the pitch black; and as he slowly opened the door, all he could smell were faint aromas of cooked chicken, roasted vegetables and one very very sad little fox. It made him tingle; there were tears in his eyes even before he'd taken two breaths in his own home. The only light in the flat came from a kaleidoscope of colour provided by their Christmas tree, sat cowering near the window and cuddling its two lonely gifts.

With the door closed to the wind and rain, Brandon shook himself gently, brushing the raindrops from his clothes and dabbing his footpaws to the doormat. He strained his yellow eyes through the chill darkness, seeing the faint strains of an orange streetlight come through into their kitchen off to the right. He padded slowly through the lounge and past their little sofa which had a Brandon-shaped indent in it, resultant of oh so many arguments; he resolved that tonight he'd either be good enough to join his mate in bed, or be tossed out into the street with just the clothes he was standing in. He wanted to be the former so badly.

"Al?"

Brandon could smell his mate; he was in the kitchen. The dobe peeked around the door and sure enough, Alois was sat alone at the head of their dining table. In the sickly-orange grey, dilute with the pale wall tiles and stainless sink taps, the vulp was sat slumped in his chair with his head hidden in his paws. The smells of cold, boiled and spoiled food were stronger now; poor fox had even set up lunch in the hope that Brandon would both be home in daylight and sober enough to at least enjoy some Christmas noms with him.

Perched at an angle over his drooped ears was a little paper party hat; it was really heartbreaking. He'd tried so hard bless 'im; there were little plates of vegetables all cooked, and he'd even roasted a small chicken for the two of them. It now all sat there, cold, unwanted and barely eaten but for the sliver of lukewarm meat that Al had allowed himself amidst his tears.

Brandon stood sheepishly in the doorway, his dagger ears flicking to disperse the remnants of the downpour; the dobe was like a charred chess piece set in his own frame, a bad playing card casting a moth-eaten spade's shadow. He'd either dig himself out of all this, or find himself preparing his own grave.

Alois slowly sat up, but never looked sideward. He just stared straight ahead, his broad ears twitching but determinedly forward.

"Al... are you OK?" Brandon ventured into the kitchen, his padded footpaws dull and hollow on the pan-tiled floor. "What makes you think I could be anything close to being OK?" His mate hissed a reply under his breath that clearly evolved from tears past, the vulp now glancing sideward. There was an acidic, angry growl across Al's muzzle, the likes of which Brandon had never seen in him before.

The dobe just hung his head, looking away at nothing in particular and slinking paws back into his damp pockets. Alois sat up slightly and looked forward again, his eyes wide and numb.

"I tried to convince myself that you wouldn't screw me over this year. But fuck me, I was wrong. Again." "I'm... I'm sorr..."

Brandon was cut off by the sound of the vulp screeching his chair back across the floor. Alois yelled out in frustration, ripping the colourful paper crown from over his ears and storming over to his cowering partner.

"If you fucking say sorry to me one more time, I'm gonna'... I'm gonna'..."Alois stuttered and stopped, not sure what more he could say. His tail was taut and his muzzle ridged in anger, his paw gesticulating before withdrawing to a clenched frustration. The fox's eyes were screwed up tight and those floppy red-white ears turned back slowly, like war-torn flags lowering at the going down of the sun; and now all you could hear was poor Alois breaking down, tears flowing down his muzzle, "Why? Why do you do this to me? Every time I hear it, that... that you're sorry and you never mean it. You... you just keep on leaving me h..high and dry."

Brandon's eyes started to break too. He held out a truffly paw to caress his mate's left shoulder, but Alois flinched and snarled, backing himself up against the kitchen wall like a cornered, frightened cub.

"Don't touch me!" "But baby, I..." "Don't... just... just don't" And now the vulp pushed past the guilt-stricken dobe, and hurried to the adjacent bedroom in floods of tears, the cold lounge tainted with the muffled sounds of his sobbing.

Brandon was left stood in the kitchen, felled by his mate's anger and shuddering at the sudden slam of the bedroom door. He was left to stare through the window glass into the blue, mirrored night, into the curious beady eyes of each and every raindrop that slithered down the dirty pane. It was almost like the outside world was gazing in on him, dumb but judgemental, timeless and tactless. He surely couldn't have expected any mercy from anything; his warm, sweet fox nor the cold, unfeeling world.

Home had become less a haven than a hell; and both scents were fading fast. Watery red smells of two lovers at their wits' end pervaded the entire flat. Brandon padded back through the lounge and stood at the bedroom door, pressing his keen left ear to the wood and trying the handle. It was locked.

"Al? Alois? Baby please." "Don't fucking baby me! Go... go away. I don't want you anywhere near me." He was blubbing and sobbing his little heart out; all you could smell was his cold, depressed scent, and all you could hear was a little fox on the edge. Alois had curled into a ball, his sniffling upset muffled by his tail; there was no greater comfort to a fox than to be at one with his whole self, with the most soothing and sweet appendage that they were all gifted with.

"I wanted to say 'thank you'" "That'd be a fuckin' first!" Al's voice strengthened, "Next thing you'll be telling me that you love me." "But I do love you. I do love you, Al. Please... please just let me in, honey." "Paws alive, another record!" There was a sarcastic laugh, punctuated only by a huff of derision, "and there was I thinking you didn't seem all that drunk tonight. Must be losing my sense of smell."

Brandon sighed, slumping to sit down on his side of the door, back to back with his mate with but a couple of inches of sawn pine as their mediator.

"I'm not" Brandon murmured, his eyes blotted with the Christmas lights; the glow, the stillness and the faded stars. "You're not what?" "I'm not losing my sense of smell. Or at least, I can smell and see clearer than I ever have before." The dog cuddled his knees close to his chest, his tail caught and still against the hard floor, "I know how much hurt I've caused. I know how much pain I inflicted on you, honey. I don't know what else I could possibly say other than 'sorry'. I'm sorry for everything, absolutely everything up to this point. It's not like a venom. I can't draw it out and take that pain for you. I can't do anything other than dedicate myself to you properly for the rest of our born days."

Alois was quieter now, screwing his eyes up again and hiding deeper in his tail. It was true though; Brandon's scent was so much cleaner and sober than he'd ever been. He was talking clearer, he was sounding like a proper mate.

"I'm not telling you, or even asking you to trust me. Cos' I know that kind of trust, that kind of respect is something I can only earn over time. Only you can decide Al. I can only... well, I'm awestruck at your devotion, the fact that you've stayed. It's another thing I can only ever get down on my knees and beg you to continue. Only this time, your doggy dog will be reciprocating; he'll be giving it all back to you. Properly"

Still nothing. Just weak, red silence.

Brandon turned, talking into the door, his nose pressed to the rough planed surface.

"The 'thank you' is not just for my presents. It's for you being mine still, after all this time and all the fucking shit I've put you through. It's for you staying, no matter what. And I... I... oh I don't know."

The dobe sighed and slumped back down with a thud, his back to the door and his dulled yellow eyes to the non-descript carpet.

"I... I don't know what else I can say or do. I... please, please come out. I want to spend at least some of what's left of Christmas with you."

There was a huff and a sigh; nothing more.

"Please?" Brandon was on the edge of tears again, his muzzle snuffling back up against the wooden door, trying to smell his mate. That redness always made him feel so whole and happy.

And still, just silence reigned; only the shuffle of Brandon's body slumping back to the floor could be heard, his head thunking back against the wood with frustration. His eyes gazed at the dark ceiling, lost in the plaster and the dusk; was there any coming back from this stalemate? The door was right there, and the night beckoned. No warm bed, no warm fox body to hold.

"I've got a full time job for the new year."

The shock of surprised scent struck his nose as soon as the words had slipped from his maw; it was the loudest anti-silence one could ever experience.

"Don't play with me." Alois murmured so softly it was barely audible. "No it's true. I start January first, bright and early." Brandon stared at his clenched paws, hung almost in prayer between his legs.

There was another silence, broken only by the soft clunk of the door latch and the handle giving way. Brandon scrambled and shuffled away from the opening door, but not getting to his footpaws; and there was Alois, his tear soaked muzzle peeking around between the edge and the doorframe. His black nose sniffled and snuffled, a paw dabbing ragged paper tissues at his darkened eyes. You could barely see him; he was shyly stood there with just the very hint of his black footpaws and his tail in view, a paw clenched to the surround.

"Really? I mean... really really?" "Really" Brandon managed a smile, lying there almost in prostration before his mate. He shuffled closer, pushing the door open a little more and turning his head so that he could see Alois, "it's about time I pulled my weight 'round here. For you and for us. I want... I want you to be proud of me, not afraid of me."

Alois's muzzle brightened up. His tail wafted a little higher and you could smell the pleasant surprise and the rising pride in the dog lain before him; a pleading, guilty, willingly atoning tail that he couldn't help but love unconditionally.

"That's really cool. I'm... that's fantastic news." The vulp dried his eyes and smiled, squatting down to his haunches and touching noses with Brandon, "You did all this for me?" "All for you, baby. The job, my useless tail, my behaviour, my all." Brandon gently lifted a paw from propping himself to the floor, and went to stroke Al's muzzle; but the fox flinched again, jerking himself backwards to almost topple over.

The dobe's ears drooped, and his muzzle angled away to the floor; this was how badly his behaviour had affected the one he loved. Alois was so conscious of being hit and beaten, that every time Brandon's paws came close, he reacted to protect himself.

It was a desperately awkward moment that had them reeling again, split in embarrassment at a dark sliver of their past meeting a bright red and happy future.

"I... I'm sorry. I was stupid and cubbish and selfish. But doggy doesn't want you to think he'll ever raise a paw to you ever again. I promise."

Alois smiled; it was the best view on earth. He was the sweetest, most handsome vulp that Brandon had ever seen. He had one more chance; no booze, no drugs, no tantrums. Just a clean tail "from brown to red to grey". It was an old Vulpic saying relating to the change in fur colour as one got older; Brandon never really bought into it, being from the western canic isles, but thought it prophetic nonetheless.

This was all possible only because inside that fox's chest was not just a red and happy mended heart, but one of gold. They were the most liberal, forgiving creatures ever to pad the earth; and Brandon counted himself so so lucky to be close to just one. The most special one of all.

"I got you a little something too" Brandon shuffled and took the envelope from the back pocket of his trousers, "since I'm down here, I might as well stay."

And with that, the dobe crawled on all four paws over to their little Christmas tree, the envelope held gently between his teeth. He felt his nubby little tail wag happily as he made his way across the carpet; it made Alois giggle to see the tempting truffly knop tick back and forth. So adorable!

"Knew that would get you smilin'" Brandon murmured, looking over his shoulder; he stopped and did it on purpose, giving a waggle of his muscled rump for extra measure. And now Alois went from pale and peturbed, to bright and blushing.

The dobe reached up and placed the little envelope at the very top of the tree, nestling it as a fibrous beacon in the glow of the Christmas lights. He was sat now cross-pawed at the foot of the tree, looking fondly over towards his fox.

"Aren't you coming over to open it?"

Alois smiled and padded shyly over, his tail a swathe of majestic scent and new vibrant happy colour in the dusky lounge; he was a like a king walking through his earth, a light in the hearts of all and a matter of awe to his supplicants. He was beautiful.

Brandon took his paw, and ushered him to sit next to him in the shadow of their Christmas tree. Their shadows cast across the carpet, fuzzed and sketched by the needles of the tree, and bevelled by the tiny little lanterns that cupped the lights. A delicate red-black paw reached up across the branches and took a hold of the envelope. Alois was so excited and happy; Brandon had never got him anything for Christmas before. He sat back down, and snuggled up into his dog's paws to open his gift, snuzzling under Brandon's muzzle with a satisfied whimper.

"Oh honey" The look on his muzzle was just so precious when he saw the tickets in his paws, and the bounce in his tail was so cute, "I've always wanted to go. I've... it's been a dream of mine for so long." "You wanna' have a little beach holiday with doggy?"

Alois smiled and nodded.

"Hold doggy's paw? Enjoy some sunshine on that handsome fur?"

The fox sat up and turned to look at Brandon in astonishment.

"You... it's like you've read my dream book. You've never..." "I've never been considerate enough to ask you what you wanted to do. Doggy sorry."

Alois shuffled closer and slurped a loving kiss over Brandon's black nose.

"I'm liking this. I'm loving the new Brandon." The fox smiled wryly, petting those dagger ears and stroking the black velvet fur along his mate's muzzle, "I never thought I would have you back."

Brandon smiled bravely, feeling his heart pound harder; his paws were finding purchase on the elongated box tucked under his belt. It was now or never.

"Would you have doggy back forever?"

His mate smiled and sat back on his haunches, his tail snaked out all plump and gorgeous across the dark carpet.

"Pour the beer and the hard stuff down the sink. No more sneaky spliffs or fags. No more yelling and screaming. And most of all, no more being out at all hours of the night," Alois shuffled forward, his knees touching Brandon's and his nose picking up a little disheartened, hurt scent, "that is of course unless I'm out with you, silly doggy."

That brought the smile back; because after all, that's all the two of them ever really wanted. Something so simple, yet something they'd just never talked through.

"I promise" And now that box was in his lap, truffly black paws fiddling with the lid, "and this is how I want to promise it all to you."

Alois was stunned, holding a paw across his muzzle and beaming happily.

"Will you marry me?"

The vulpic ribbons were gorgeous; ready initialled for them both, and sat so invitingly in a blue velvet bed; and Alois just couldn't speak, taking the box in his paws and feeling his eyes grow hot with tears.

His head was shaking softly.

"You... you don't like them?" Brandon was all nervous and disappointed. "No, no... I love them. I really do." "But?" The dobe was leaning forward, his eyes wide and desperately hopeful.

Alois smiled and sniffed, a tear rolling down his red-furred cheek and pattering to the carpet. He held one stare with his terribly nervous mate, and turned tail, wafting it high and happy in Brandon's muzzle; it was the very traditional Vulpic acceptance to proposal.

"No buts" Alois looked back over his shoulder and smiled happily, "well, other than this one. Would you?"

Another wag of his tail and Brandon was carefully lifting the fox's gilt white ribbon from the box and wrapping it gently about the very centre of his mate's brush. There was a soft mew of content as the silk was tied, Brandon smiling slyly as he mounted up and over his fox to cuddle him from behind.

"Mmm my favourite position." The dobe grinned, and nommed softly on Al's right ear. "Naughty hound!" Alois giggled, and looked back again to see his mate there, muzzle lain on his shoulder. "I love you" "I love you too doggy dog"

Al returned the favour for Brandon's tail, not able to resist to squish and handle that cute little appendage.

"Nummy tail" "Mmm you reckon so?" Brandon admired his ribbon bow, before turning on his knees and caressing his paws to Al's slender waist.

His fox blushed pink and nodded shyly. Brandon had never been so gentle and thoughtful; his tail and his mind were so much clearer. His fur still shivered when those big black paws touched him; but now it was not a flinch, but a pleasure. It was something Al wanted to see so much more of; wanted to revive the passion they'd had when they were younger.

He took Brandon's paw and lead him silently into their bedroom. The smells of fresh bed sheets, dulled food and spicy climbing scents wafted into panting muzzles; Brandon was boiling hot on the inside, bouncy yet relieved. His eyes drifted lower, hypnotised by Alois's tail; he smelled so good.

It was all a gorgeous blur, as though he were drunk again. But this time, it wasn't beer or spirits, it was the scent of the beautiful young fox muzzle-to-muzzle with him. Paws moved like paint brushes, red and black watercolour passion that dipped into the night and drew sweet, desirous moans onto the chalkboard air.

Shirtless and prostrate on the duvet, Brandon gazed up and sighed; Alois was there, straddling him and smiling so very happily. He saw the fox that he fell in love with. He saw himself in those mirrored eyes, a dark, muscled dog who'd pulled himself out of the mire and was on the road to redemption in the heart and mind of this perfect vulpine male.

He ran his paws through Alois's warm white chest fur, in awe at his beauty. His hips were so tempting, his tummy so cute, his muzzle wet with tears still; happy tears.

Al gave a big, wide yawn and a stretch; Brandon wasn't sure how much cuter he could become.

"Can... can we cuddle?" "I'd love that" Brandon murmured, ushering him down onto the bed and spooning his velvety body around him. "Comfy?" "Mhm" Alois sighed deeply and snuggled into his mate's paws.

Brandon kissed the top of the fox's head, lingering there; he'd missed this so much.

"Doggy?" "Hm?" "Happy Christmas"

Brandon rested his muzzle between Alois's ears, his eyes closing.

"Happy Christmas, baby."