FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

---

Vivienne rings the doorbell, being the right height for it. Lilou waits beside her, below her, mostly getting to look up and watch her human operate at a level designed for her, watching her pay as little attention to poking her finger onto the button of the doorbell as she does to the buttons of her phone while checking her messages.

Vivienne's that manicured, ponytailed, suntanned white lady smiling for no reason, or because there's no reason for her not to, so proud of her little Lilou for just the same reason. Lilou's the Braixen of this little party. The one who, rather than brushing her own tufts or filing her own nails, gets groomed. Who prefers the lack of a smile to the lack of a reason for it. The one whose day gets decided for her, and better look goddamn good enough right now for her lack of personal effort.

A few seconds of footfalls from inside and Nicolas opens the door, the simplest action that bring Lilou's paws clutching at each other as she keeps staring up. Nicolas, the boy next door with the eyes impervious to some exact shade of brown or green that keep Lilou's on them, with the cool brown skin so inviting on this hot early autumn's day. He smiles only when he sees his visitors, steps aside for them with a backward nod, and says, “Yo, come on in."

“Nicolas, thank you so much again for watching Lilou," Vivienne says, pressing her phone back into her purse and guiding Lilou by the shoulder into Nicolas's apartment. “She got so antsy when I told her I had to work today—I couldn't just leave her by herself at home again. You'll have an easy time with her, don't worry. She's so smart. Whatever you're doing, she'll try to help you. She's such a sweetheart."

Nicolas shuffles one hand into his pocket and sweeps the other over his hair—he straightened it this week. He's kept it black again, but now it's tied into a little bun at the top of his head like the half-naked buff men in television commercials.

Lilou averts her gaze.

“Yeah, she's cool," Nicolas says. “We'll be fine. You getting to work now?"

Even as she brushes through her purse, Vivienne says, “Oh, yes. Yeah. We already had breakfast, so she won't be hungry, but she's not picky, anyway. She can eat when you eat."

She pulls out a plastic baggy stuffed with kibble.

“Here's her food, just enough for lunch, and I'll be back for her before dinner. She eats just those three times a day, so keep an eye on your fridge—I put a lock on mine so she couldn't root around for snacks while I'm not there. No good for her diet."

Neither are those pellets of stale earthen garbage Lilou's fed anyway. But Nicolas takes the baggy, swivels to his kitchen, and tosses it over to the counter in one smooth motion.

“Yup. Gotcha. What next?"

“Well, you've met each other before, so I know you'll be great," Vivienne says. “Just give her the remote to the T.V. and—you know how much she likes it. And just call me if there are any problems, right? I don't think you'll have any, but I'll keep my phone on me, so don't hesitate."

Nicolas offers a thumbs-up. “No hesitating, gotcha."

Vivienne swings open her purse again and glances at her phone. “All right, all right, I need to be going. You two have fun, right? And be good for Nicolas, Lilou. I'll be back tonight, okay? Be good!"

She takes the handle, shuts the door behind her, and leaves a sudden silence in Nicolas's apartment. A silence too long. Lilou tucks her paws behind the frills of her skirt of fur, fingers poking between the tufts in reach, words hiding under her tongue if only she could speak them in English. It's the first time she's been totally alone with him—

And it's going to be very quiet.

Nicolas pulls his hand out from his pocket and bends at the knees, sinking to half his height and perfectly level to Lilou's. Without looking her back in the eye, he reaches one hand around her waist and draws a paw back with him, scrambling how much control she holds over her own face. He holds her entire paw in just three fingers, and Lilou lets him.

“Hey, that's what I remember I seen," he says, thumbing over her fingers. He lets her go, pushes up, and pokes that thumb back toward the living room. “You're about to learn how to play Pokken. Come on."

It's such a dumb thing she feels, Lilou's sure, but as soon as Nicolas turns from her she swings her paws up to her head and rustles the red fur out her ears poofier, smoothes down the tufts over her cheeks. She shoves her skirt down and only then follows.

Nicolas isn't just any boy next door—he actually lives right next to Lilou and Vivienne. Even though his apartment is the same layout, his unfamiliar furniture and pictures and paint only adds to the mystery of what could happen in here. In the hall, he keeps photographs of humans shorter than him with the same regular curly texture to his hair, the same comfortable skin, and an older kind of broad smile than his—and no one but family in any frame, to which Lilou finds the first reason to smile.

But against the reasons still not to, she doesn't.

This is the world of pokemon. In this world, humans have a remarkable talent for ignoring signs of intelligence. Lilou knows it well. In this world, in her experience, humans don't have relations of any sort with pokemon beyond doting or training.

Openly, at least. Lilou's seen the kind of tapes humans make in private that everybody decries in public. The kind she gets her paws on through Vivienne's computer every weekday.

Lilou strolls closer into the living room, or the bulk of the apartment, and the furniture there comes down to a puffy blue sofa splayed parallel to the television. It's a flatter scent all over the place than her own home, too, untouched by Vivienne's cloying air fresheners or really anything else. As little as Lilou's ever gotten to meet him, she's never heard Nicolas be the one to invite anyone over like Vivienne enjoys.

Even then, Nicolas hardly notices as Lilou glances to him, then pulls herself up onto the cushion beside him, wriggles around, and pads deeper and proper into the seat. She smooths down her skirt again, toes and the shiny untrimmed fur between them poking into the air ahead of her. It's an active effort for her to tug her feet flatter against the sofa just so they don't rise off from it so much, but Nicolas sits in total comfort, something he exudes so easily that Lilou feels better just sitting beside him.

His television is already on. He taps a few buttons on his little controller, not so little out of his hands, perhaps, and leans closer to the screen. Lilou's gaze wanders from the flashy screens he's clicking through back to his shirt fluttering with him, a size too large over the sort of kind, gentle frame he's got going for him. Sweatpants, too. Comfortable to any touch.

It's not like she has some fetish for humans. (She doesn't. She might.) Nicolas is just a very special kind of human; a special kind of person. He treats her like—maybe like he would anyone? He treats her like he does Vivienne, the times he comes over for Vivienne's get-togethers.

parks himself on the couch, throws an arm over the side where Lilou's already sitting, points out all the actors he knows and what else they've done when only Lilou's listening to him. he doesn't even try to talk to the other guests. maybe it's only the television he cares about. or maybe if nobody else were here he'd slip off his pants right now and offer

“Hold this."

Nicolas pokes another of his little wireless controllers over Lilou's lap. He meets her eyes for the split second she focuses back on his, then he sets the controller down and pulls away while her paws meet just the hard, smooth plastic.

It is pretty big, actually.

With the first controller in his own grip, Nicolas points his finger over Lilou's to a stick extruding from a sort of bump in the plastic. He says, “That moves you. You know how to use remotes? This is like that. The A button is your yes clicker. Try picking your character."

It's all too easy for Lilou to dart her gaze down to only the controller. Nicolas can hold his with ease, but Lilou's paws hardly fit around the sides of hers. With it sitting in her lap, at least, she works at configuring her fingers into a legible shape over the stick she's been told to try, bumping it up and down with her thumb as the rest of her fingers steady her grip on the side.

You may already know how to use one of these, but Lilou, thank you very much, needs something else to keep her mind occupied right now.

“Nah, you got to look up at the screen while you move it," Nicolas says. He points up at the television, and Lilou follows his finger to a screen filled with pokemon in dolled-up expressions, posing for battle like that's all they're good for.

Which in this case, they are. It's a fighting game. Lilou holds her controller steady and presses her plastic stick in the direction of a Braixen's portrait, contoured and brushed like some ideal if not plasticked model for her whole species.

Mostly appropriate, Lilou wishes.

“Okay, okay, now," Nicolas says, pointing back to the buttons on Lilou's controller, “voici quelques charabia complet sur tout un tas de choses chacun de ces badges peut faire, oh bon, ce qui est lui même plus dire—"

Yes, that's about what Lilou hears. She spreads a thin smile across her whole jaw and nods slowly every time Nicolas glances back up to her, at every little point he makes.

Then he points to the top of her controller and says, “And you'll, uh—oh, shit. We'll skip the shoulder buttons."

Lilou bends an inch forward for a look at the buttons he's pointed out, two pads just out of reach from Lilou's fingers. Her paws are already dedicated in place over just the few buttons Nicolas already described.

“Yeah, we'll both just skip those, fair play," he says. “Here we go. I'm getting us in."

Nicolas clicks and stick-waggles them into battle. His eyes keep sealed to the television now, not darting from one part to another but soaking in the whole screen at once. It's not just the obvious of how he's done this before—there's a programming in his fingers to every motion he commands, tuning out Lilou completely for the television if not for a wide-eyed grin across his lips that she wonders how often he'd flash playing by himself.

with himself, but he doesn't have to anymore

Lilou presses her own buttons idly while Nicolas whacks his. His shoulders jut from side to side the same direction he moves his Machamp, a choice of fighter Lilou might appreciate if she paid it much attention.

Is this how Nicolas spends his nights? He works weekdays the same as Vivienne, and if he never invites anyone over, has he spent his time doing this or playing other games alone? Then it would definitely be Lilou's company that's got him enjoying himself so much. By narrowing down that logic, he's basically smiling at her while he plays like the way she's—

“Bam, flawless!" Nicolas declares, dropping his controller and thumping his fists in the air. The truest flash of pride creases his eyelids like dimples surrounding them, filling his cheeks and rattling the loose strands of his hair in that one instantaneous look of the autumn sun in his face. He settles down the next moment, but still smiling, he looks back down to Lilou's oh god she can't just watch him the whole time like that what will he even think and says, “That was not a good round. That was bad. You got to try at least, y'know? We got one more round, come on. Eyes on your girl."

Lilou hushes her frazzled gaze back to the screen. It doesn't even show her defeated digital form anymore.

“Tell you what, just button mash," Nicolas says. “Just mash your buttons. It's legit, I'm not kidding."

He still wants a fight? Fine, they'll fight. Lilou crouches her paws tighter over her controller. She may not know how to do these spectacular fighting moves, but her avatar does, so she'll just trust that—

Oh she lost again.

Lilou shoves the controller off from her lap. There's no reason for anyone to be so proud of winning that easily. She doesn't pout, goddammit, but—her frown tells more of a story than she likes.

Nicolas sets his controller next to hers and scratches his head. He doesn't sigh, but—it's after a pause in his breath that he says, “Where's your wand, anyway?"

Lilou eyes him back just a second before she folds her arms and nods toward the door.

“Vivi got it for you?"

Lilou nods.

Nicolas nods slower with her. “Sucks?"

Lilou takes one more second to nod this time.

“Sucks," Nicolas says, pushing himself back up in his seat. “She don't trust you much, huh?"

He phrases it so simply. Maybe it's easy for a fully fledged person to see it like that, but for just a pet—

Well, Lilou didn't picture spending her one day with him on losing a video game about professional fighting pokemon who already know how to use their wands and special moves.

Nicolas takes up his controller again, but shuffles beyond just that motion beside Lilou. He wrestles one arm behind his back, slides his controller into the center of his lap, and stretches his free hand over the whole thing.

“Wait—okay, no bullshit," he chuckles, looking between Lilou and the television. “Now we on even ground. One more try? You get to pick my character, too."

Lilou huffs a breath through her nose. She grabs her controller back into her lap and paws her stick up to Nicolas's previous selection, the Machamp, taking a firm look back to him while she's there.

Nicolas shrugs, that motion still free to him. He says, “Aight, fair rematch. Let's do this."

Now the fight throttles to something frisky, mean, fast. Lilou mashes all her buttons like Nicolas was, jabbing her stick left and right and throwing fireballs, yes, finally, swinging her wand all around and jabbing her stick again and dodging that grab the Machamp's lunging for—?

“Nuh-ho!" Nicolas laughs, wrangling his stick around with just his thumb. “Fuck, fuck, come here! Gonna get you, come here, fuck! No, no, no you don't—!"

Lilou grins close over her controller, leaning in for all these buttons she's mashing. It shouldn't be nice to fight someone at such a handicap, but goddamn does she enjoy seeing her Braixen's fireballs pop in those little explosions on somebody.

And seeing her swing her hips so wide in every idle move, tip her toes up every swing of her wand, flaunt every angle with that look on her face like she knows she can win whatever she tries.

Getting Nicolas to see those, too, is nice.

“Got you!" Nicolas cries, grappling digital forms more violently than in Lilou's fantasies. “Alley-oop—oomph, yeah. Come on, one more—shit! No, get back here!"

In the glances Lilou still gives herself, there's a light again behind the lines on Nicolas's face. The dimples by his eyes shine open and clear even through the squint that comes with his grin. It's so easy for her to help him have this kind of fun.

But the action on screen climaxes with a jump, after Lilou finds the consistent button for it, and many fireballs—Machamp takes the shots square in his chest and falls like a roided pile of bricks, the screen flashing big to Braixen's win, dancing through her victory pose as Lilou drops her controller, throws her paws into the air just like—

“Oh, fuck, crushed me! Total reversal!" Nicolas bellows, throwing up just the one fist beside the victor this time.

“Nyu, bya—!"

Lilou shuts her damn mouth a second too late. Nicolas looks down to her nearly bemused, not that he can see the sudden sweat under the fur of her brow.

“Wow," he says. “I never even heard you make a sound before."

Lilou keeps her eyes on the screen instead, trying to hide both her frown and the only actual voice in her throat.

oh my god, so cute, you're such a little sweetheart, yes you are, can you say that for me again? you're so precious, just listen to you, oh my goodness

She smooths back the yellow tufts over her cheeks and pats a paw to her ears out of habit as she collects herself. Lilou just doesn't like to sound like that.

Nicolas rouses her, bumping an easy fist over her shoulder before he settles it over his controller again. “Round two? Come on."

Lilou takes a moment to process, then bumps him back. More of a tap on his forearm, really, but she grins for it.

Nicolas just laughs. He looks from her to her paw and says, “You trying not to hurt me? That's real sad. You're not gonna hurt me."

Pap. That's the sound this time of Lilou's miniature fist slapping against his bare skin—it is cool—real effort involved, gritting her fangs and everything. Nicolas rolls over the armrest on his side of the sofa, still laughing through the fake pain in his voice as he says, “Oh, yeah, that's it! Bring that on in for round two now, let's go. I'll pound your ass this time."

Lilou shoots her gaze back to the television before he gets a clear look at her for that one, pawing her plastic tight. Nicolas just stretches his hand back over his controller, chuckling before he settles in for real, for serious.

No more squealing, no vocal accidents. Lilou doesn't notice paying closer attention to her opponent on screen this time, but not in any way to help herself, and she loses the next round. Wins the one after. Celebrates quieter, knocks her toes together, appreciates Nicolas's next conceding fistbump more than her victory.

It's soon an hour later, or two, or whenever—there's no clock on the wall, so Lilou only notices the window's afternoon light when Nicolas pulls his arm out from around his back and stretches deep over the sofa, sighing, “Good fight. Good fight. Oh, damn—should have stretched sooner. You good for lunch now?"

He leads them both toward his kitchen, the tiniest room in his apartment that Lilou's seen thus far. A bar counter opens it up toward the living room in lieu of any proper dining room, bare counter space doubling for his table.

Lilou scoops herself up onto one of the stools from the living room side as Nicolas shuffles over linoleum and takes the bag of kibble Vivienne left in his care. He lifts it between himself and Lilou, folding his brow as he says, “This really what you want?"

Lilou offers her firmest thumbs-down.

“Yeah…" Nicolas mutters, strolling quicker to the garbage bin. He taps it open with a foot, dunks the bag in, and lets the lid slap shut with a bang and a “Boop."

He opens the fridge next, Lilou peeking around him what little she can, but Nicolas shuts it before she sees any more than just a couple of cartons of something inside. He turns back to her, splays his hands together behind his head, and says, “New idea: let's go to the store."

It's not often that Lilou gets to walk with anyone while the sun's still high. She takes Vivienne's spare key sometimes and goes for a stroll while her human's at work, but with the looks she gets from strangers wondering why she's by herself, it's usually not much better than just masturbating alone in front of the computer.

So Nicolas locks his door while Lilou skips down the stairs ahead of him. Their apartment block lies near the center of the metropolis, accessible to everywhere nice to go for a walk. A few towers top the skyline from any direction, but in the tight little residential areas of the city, these neighborhoods, are mostly colorful stores, hand-painted street addresses, and thin, busy roads surrounding people's happy homes.

Lilou smooths down her skirt on the sidewalk, holding up for Nicolas as he hops down every other step behind her. She slips her paws behind herself again and watches him smile his way down to her as he flips apart the rims of blue plastic sunglasses, donning them for the hot sun beating down on them together.

Lilou's never gone to the supermarket herself, but even though Nicolas leads them, she wanders beside him down the sidewalk. No strangers even glance at her today, as if only Nicolas knows she's there. It makes for kind of a giddy feeling in her toes, like they want to bounce.

She lifts just one paw over, tugging—not too hard, just gently enough—at Nicolas's sweatpants, pulling his shaded gaze down to her. She points to him, then motions a paw to her mouth, bobbing both her lips and fingers open and closed.

“Talk about what?" Nicolas says, hands in his pockets. “You want me to talk, you got to come up with something."

Lilou hesitates in the moment she thinks of how to phrase it. She grips something roundish and invisible with just two fingers, settles it over her eyes, and hunches over something flat as all her fingers type on it.

Without getting to see his dimples in the expression, Nicolas just smirks at her. He says, “Oh, wow, what is that? Just nerding out? You want to talk computers?"

Lilou shakes her head. Nicolas rolls his head back a second as he gasps low, saying, “Oh, you mean work?"

Lilou nods!

“Yeah, work's good. But that's nothing to talk about," Nicolas says. He puckers and shrugs wide. “I just try to forget about it soon as I'm home, y'know? Not many people blessed with getting to love their job."

Really, she does know.

“Nah, work's fine. Forget about that. What do you do every day, Lilou?"

It's like Nicolas stares her down now. Not just making conversation, but waiting to learn about her. Lilou's tongue fumbles in her mouth, nearly wanting to give some kind of real answer, but the look she can only see half of makes her wonder if Nicolas really expects her to just—say something.

Like he wouldn't be surprised if human words rolled off her tongue right now, if she could use those to act like someone normal.

She just taps her fingers midair over something flat again.

“Hell yeah," Nicolas says. “That makes two of us. What else, right?"

No, actually, nothing else. Get woken up, get fed, get brushed, get to wave goodbye a few seconds before eight or nine hours of pacing and digital surfing. Masturbation isn't even an embarrassing punchline anymore.

But Lilou shrugs a smile back up before Nicolas looks forward again.

“On the Internet, nobody knows you're a Braixen," he chuckles. “Just kidding. I'm just messing with you."

They wait for the whole road to pause for them as a signpost past the crosswalk flashes white for pedestrians, and they jog for it despite their plenty of time. Just past that intersection is the largest parking lot for miles stretched before the supermarket, cars and buggies rolling beside each other down every aisle, jockeying for space.

Nicolas whistles as they go, strolling past the hot tires and cooling engines a pace ahead of Lilou now. He looks back to her a second and says, “Busy. Want a shoulder back ride?"

good little pokemon playing with her trainer, no one looking twice, a man and his braixen having fun in the right kind of way, maybe just kindly old folks smiling at them as they pass by

Lilou clutches her fingers tight around each other behind her back, but to Nicolas, she just shrugs half of a nod.

Her next view is sudden and broad, wow, just look at it all. It's a horrible view, actually, just the roasting tops of a sterile fleet and untidied haircuts walking quickly back to their place within it, but Lilou can see it all at once now and god it's huge.

Nicolas holds her ankles just barely, hunching an inch more forward for her, her paws resting careful around his black bun. If her fur is too much of a thick coat over his own skin, he doesn't mention it. He just hops her whole body steadier once or twice, grunting or giggling, and guides the both of them toward the big sliding doors at the side of the store.

And while he's having fun, Lilou notices all the people staring at her after all. Necks craning, taking time out of their day to get a better look at the pokemon maybe a little too big for shoulder rides anymore.

Then she notices the sign by the entrance.

She wiggles her feet in his grasp, tapping beside his shoulder with her paw. Nicolas twists his neck up toward her, not asking what, but looking next to where she points.

NO POKEMON INSIDE PLEASE - THANK YOU!

There's two unoccupied benches beneath the sign. The 'please' is what really completes it—the message is entirely for humans, not Lilou.

She lets most of her grip on Nicolas sink. He pauses them beside the door, only stepping out from the way of buggies and busybodies, and clicks his tongue at the sign. He hops Lilou once more into a better grip.

“No reason for that," he says. “Guess it's the minimart now."

He swoops them back around toward the street again, but Lilou taps him on the shoulder with just the thought of how glad she is nobody can see the real color in her cheeks. She wiggles her feet, points to the ground, and looks away when Nicolas gets a look at her face.

“Yeah, okay," he says, helping her down. “No problem."

She walks behind him again down the road, smoothing her skirt repeatedly every time she looks at the strangers passing by as they miss her. Nicolas doesn't bring anything up with her for this walk.

A gas station lies on the corner a few blocks away, a modern brick storefront pretending to be classical laid out in front of at least a little grove of trees and hedges, big potted flowers stumped between each of the pumps. Nicolas heads in first through the smaller door there that he pulls open himself, but stretches back to keep open for Lilou. It's with one more personal pat down that she scurries in with him.

The middle aisle holds the snacks with all the bright labels and big fonts, the candy bars stocked at child-luring height. Nicolas looks to the other side of the aisle with the mini cereals and energy bars, but Lilou pokes her fingers all across the red and blue packages nearly designed just for her sparkling eyes.

“Y'know, it's just a shame because—I was really gonna cook us up something awesome," Nicolas says, eyeing Lilou over his shoulder. She glances back up to him, and he continues, “Oh, yeah. Had it all planned out. We were gonna get some seasoning, some, like—meat, too, and vegetables. I was gonna treat you to my world famous—"

He pauses rather than letting his tongue stumble over empty air. He rolls his eyes back a second, shakes his hands in his pockets, thinks a moment.

“Good lunch. World famous good lunch."

He nods slow and steady, sure of his words now.

“Yeah. That's what's a shame, because I was gonna show you how I eat all the time, just real awesome, and now we've got to settle for the alternate food groups."

Nicolas glances between her and the candy bars. Lilou glances between him and the candy bars. Her ears curl lower as she fails to grin.

“Chocolate's poisonous to you, huh?"

Lilou glances between him and the candy bars, then nods.

Nicolas nods, too, pursing his lips. “Alternate-alternate food groups. Okay."

They carry out at least two bags each as they exit the mart, flimsy plastic filled with low-fat yogurt bars, more or less ten boxes of single-serve cereals, and juice, motherfucker. With an appropriately reduced sugar content. Still good.

The bags serve as trash bins beside the sofa back home as Lilou and Nicolas both sag against the rear cushions, knees shoved out and necks bent at nearly the same angle while the television assaults their attention together. Some flick made for the silver screen. Not bad. Not good. Nice, Lilou thinks.

Nicolas holds a bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other, elbow dumped over his armrest, chewing sweetened wheat flakes at the same speed his senses drain away. Lilou munches on another of the bars, lapping at the strawberry filling whenever a string of it dangles from her previous bite. Though she's more slumped than he, Lilou still takes a peek at Nicolas every time the television gets a laugh from him. His face rests easy the rest of the time, contorting only for his spoon, but when he chuckles, she likes watching his eyes dance from brown to green and all in between more than whatever produces his chuckle.

He glances back to her. She glances back to the television. No talking now.

Lilou still looks to him—she keeps her head forward, but her gaze peeks to the slightly flattened form still in the corner of her eye. His sweatpants. The half an outline of his shaft laid asleep in them.

favorite video. shaky camcorder in the hand of someone only paying half his attention to holding it steady, shot framing a Manectric in the throes of exactly what she wants. knees buckled, hind legs barely upright, ass slamming over that smooth pink thing, no barbs, no bulb, just the comfort. she looks back to the camera with those eyes Lilou can't even practice in the mirror. the language on her tongue is the joy in her soaked

Nicolas laughs again. Lilou still takes a quick peek at him for it.

The videos, though. She doesn't like many of those videos, no matter how many she watches. Sometimes they're reminders of worse things. Not all the partners in those illicit films look satisfied, happy, or either. And none of the videos, not a one, ever show the human's face.

But she doesn't need them to when she can just keep glancing to her left.

Nicolas sets his spoon back in his bowl and pushes himself up, craning his neck either way and groaning for a second before he takes the remote in his other hand. He looks directly to Lilou next, and she shoves the rest of her yogurt bar in her gullet for the moment's hesitation it takes to realize he's paying attention. He rattles the remote.

“Cartoons now?"

Lilou blinks over her stuffed cheeks, then shrugs.

“Cool," Nicolas says, clicking over channels and setting the remote down by Lilou. He puts his bowl on the carpet by his feet, then shoves off and skips toward another room hissing, “Taking a leak."

bit much, but maybe she'll learn to like it if that's what he's into

Actually no. Scratch that last one.

Lilou gulps down her actual mouthful and slips her empty wrapper into the bag flapped open under her feet, then slumps back fully into the cushions. She needs to stop. She's done enough actual research to know porn is a bad place to learn about relationships, but even outside of that, she's seen that it's guys who normally make the first move. That if they don't show any interest, then they really aren't interested.

She knows having to spend time with someone else is no interest shown.

But she also knows you have to show that you're interested first, sometimes.

god yes do that

She slaps her paws over her cheeks, flattening her puffy tufts before her fingers drag down and release them. How does she expect Nicolas would even react? What could even happen if things progressed? They have no more time to spend together after today. Under the best circumstances, they have no relationship.

She needs to stop.

“Back in action," Nicolas calls behind her, strolling around the sofa the moment after and thumping back into his spot. Lilou's seat bumps next to his as he wriggles further, taking the remote again and really settling in. Lilou just smiles up at him, a plain welcome back, at least.

And Nicolas smiles back just as easy, then rolls his arm over the cushion on Lilou's side. Just like when he comes over to Vivienne's, sure, but—

different different different different

Lilou straightens herself up a bit, pulls her legs closer together until her toes are bouncing cold against each other. Her paws meet tight over her lap. She's going to do it. Her cheeks flare under the skin, her gaze swerves anywhere but to her left, and she tilts her stiff spine the same direction she won't look.

And she touches down against the ribs of his shirt. Her ear and fur nestle around it. She forces herself to keep breathing at the same rate.

Nicolas shifts above her, chest twisting an inch under her cheek, but then he shifts back without a word. Lilou can't see what expression he makes, but she feels the same gentle pulses in him cushioning her face. There's no disturbance in his heart like in hers. It's a bad sign, maybe, but this one she likes anyway.

Inordinate time passes them by, as it feels. The window at the far end of the room keeps getting dimmer now as the sun gives up on Lilou and Nicolas, fading lower every time Lilou looks its direction.

The television offers them only the smallest kind of time together after all. Lilou stays against Nicolas as long as she can, until the whole apartment dims in the glow of just the screen, but it feels like a countdown until the moment their cushions press apart again and he rises, stretches his back, leans down for his bowl and all their trash.

Lilou turns over the back of the sofa as Nicolas treads to the sink, clatters his dishes, throws away the plastic. She stays put and wonders if she needs to get up right this second, follow him.

“Vivi's back at what, seven?" Nicolas calls to her, swiveling the faucet over the dishes for a few seconds' rinsing. “She's always back before me, anyway."

He looks to the window.

“Damn. Time's really gone."

Lilou sits herself back down and straightens all the fur within reach of her maddened paws. She presses down her skirt like three times before a warmer light clicks on overhead, footfalls then shuffling closer. Nicolas sits by her again, and Lilou sits all too still. The television's still on. That's what he keeps watching, stretching his hands only behind his head now.

Does he recognize any of the actors lending their voices? He hasn't said. Maybe he doesn't really watch cartoons, thinks they're just more suitable for Lilou's type.

Maybe Lilou plays the supporting role in this apartment, too.

touch him again, find out

It's all she wants to find out. It's nothing she dares to try. It's the poems dancing in circles in her head about love and lust and risk and how to tell which of them is real, how to look into his eyes and see the kinds of thoughts in them she believes only she could have. Discovery. Thoughts contorting into touch. Mutual everything shared all at once.

or sit here and do nothing and let him let you leave for nothing, no touch, no knowing

Sweat bubbles around Lilou's brain. Her fingers pry cold and still at each other. She needs another hour or two to figure out what she should be doing here. Maybe a week.

But then Nicolas giggles freely again at the television.

Lilou looks straight to him, maybe forgetting to hide her gaze, maybe ignoring the fear telling her to. She watches every line in his smile curl for the moment she can see them, one cheek flickering between shadows and flashes of color from the screen, the other shaded cool under the light on and in him. He's happy—but by himself, or beside Lilou?

The doorbell rings and all the clocks in the world come to an end. Nicolas looks over his shoulder, lowers his hands to push himself off the sofa, and one thought rocks into Lilou's mind clearer than all the rest, quiet and profound for just the instant: it's safest to let this day end in peace. Quietly.

So in her quietest note, Lilou mutters, “Byan?"

Nicolas waits, looks down as the vestige of his smile is lit anew at her, and he says so easily, “What's that?"

Emerald waves crash against dark cliffs and swirl together in a horizon that Lilou drifts into all at once before closing her own eyes. Her paws dangle over his chest and she feels her fingers curl around his shirt. She presses her lips over the warmest skin of her life, and it lasts.

It's flat. Their mouths are both closed, lips chapped. It's a kiss totally unprepared. It's the touch alone, the invitation for more, that lasts as long as Lilou can pretend it does.

Lilou pulls away by herself. She flutters her eyes back open, knees pressed beside his leg, raised up beside Nicolas to nearly his own height, cold and scared everywhere but for the warmth still fading on her lips.

She sees a smile faded even quicker.

The look on Nicolas's face matches the exact confusion of a man who can't understand any pokemon wanting to be more than a pet. The swirl in his eyes moves backward and his hands draw away.

“I don't—"

He keeps looking her in the eye like he needs an explanation, like he's waiting for her silly excuse about how this was all a big misunderstanding. And Lilou can't look away.

“—I didn't know."

The doorbell rings. Nicolas ducks out of Lilou's gaze, turns over his shoulder again, fiddles an empty thumb back toward the door. Lilou struggles her paws back into place around herself, not him, and she nods quick, slides her legs away, tugs herself off the sofa as Nicolas pushes off to go welcome Vivienne back.

“Hey, Nicolas! How was she? Did you two have fun together? Oh, there she is, hey, Lilou! Were you good for Nicolas? She can be such a handful, right, she's such a smart girl but too much for her own good sometimes, isn't she. Didn't feed her anything too human, did you? don't want her to get the wrong idea or something, get too big for her britches, get even dumber than what stupid ideas she already comes

“Yeah, uh, sorry if you waited. Had the T.V. up," Nicolas says, stuffing his hands in his pockets and stepping back from the door. “She was—yeah. We had a fun day."

Vivienne peeks around him, pushing her purse back and leaning down over her knees, smiling big and pearly into the apartment. “Lilou, were you good for Nicolas?"

Two steps at a time and yet slower, Lilou gets herself past Nicolas and halts just in front of Vivienne. She nods once up at her human and stifles the rest.

“Good! Such a sweetheart," Vivienne says with a ruffle over Lilou's ears. She stands straight again and shores up her purse, offering her hand for Lilou's paw as she says to her equal, “Thanks again for looking after her, Nicolas. She just spends so many days alone already, right? I just really appreciate you being able to—"

“Yeah, no, don't mention it," Nicolas says. He slips a hand up behind his neck, gaze flickering down a moment before he brings it back up to Vivienne. “I should—"

He looks back, pointing a thumb with it, tongue hanging on the excuse he needs. But Vivienne says, “Oh, yeah, I won't keep you. You get back to your T.V. But thanks again, okay?"

“Yeah," Nicolas stutters, eyes still unsteady. “Have a good night."

Lilou follows Vivienne home for the five more seconds Nicolas has to bid something further.

look back?

No.

Vivienne shuts the door behind her and her girl after nothing else comes. She lays her purse over the counter, stretches her arms, sighs something about her no one cares, and strolls toward the bedroom to change back into her lazy clothes. Her girl excuses herself straight to the bathroom.

Lilou's pathetic. Tears bubbling over her cheeks, mind muddling over her mistake. Paws clutched hard over her mouth to muffle the sobs scrambling through, shaking, kneeling in front of the toilet like she wants to vomit out her lungs. There is a perfect image of her whole self floating before her eyes no matter how she wipes at them. It's just sad. It's the dumbest kind of sight.

The worst part is how quickly she shuts the hell up as soon as she hears the bedroom door knock open again. Her reddened eyes widen and her throat clamps shut. Her knees on the cold floor plead with herself that no one sees her like this, including herself, if she could just—

She counts down how long she can stay in here until Vivienne will come knock on the door, check on her. The rest of the night will go on dry-cheeked, big and smiling, some more television and dinner in a bowl. By the time she and Vivienne go to bed, Lilou won't be able to cry anymore even if she tries, and as sad and alone as her scene is now, she feels better spilling her tears than letting them go to waste. They go to waste anyway.