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The phone rang, and Troy hated himself. He licked the back of his hand, trying to get the acid out of his mouth. Spat into the days old coffee cup on his desk and pulled the wet part of his nightshirt away from his body.

He'd rinsed it clean of vomit and twisted it dry but it wasn't all that dry. It clung to his fur. He should change but then he might as well get up properly and he felt like he should sleep because he had a meeting tomorrow. Today. Later today, so really he should just get up.

Jennifer picked up. The phone rustled on her fur and he started crying again, because she was so far away, because he was so alone, because it was four AM and he'd woken her up, he could tell from the shift of sheets, and she probably hated him and he shouldn't have called and his stomach hurt and his face was all wet and he was scared he was gonna throw up again and-

"Shh, sweetheart. Shh." Her voice was petal-soft.

Troy pulled up the hem of his nightshirt and held the cloth against his eyes.

She waited a moment, not a long one, before shhing again, ever so gently. He heard her pass the phone from hand to hand. "It's alright now," she soothed.

He concentrated on breathing. Just on breathing, and the sound of her voice. "Tell me something beautiful," he plead.

"Alright." The sheets of her bed, soft and warm and cool and hot and cool on his flesh, whispered while Jennifer stood."I've got a sunrise. Do you have one?"

He shook his head lamely. "No." Pressed his chin against his palm and held his head off his knee.

"The light's kind of... golden red yellow. Uh. Traffic's still only automated. The sides of the trucks are flashing in the light, and, uhm." She hesitated and said the most beautiful thing of all. "I miss you."

Troy swayed side to side unsteadily, eyes shut tight, cradling the phone carefully against his ear. "I miss you too." He brushed the tears away with the back of his thumb. These were okay, even though they made his eyes burn.

"There's birds." He heard the creak of her window opening. "I don't know if you can hear them. They're pretty soft, flying around the masts."

"I can hear them," he croaked. "Big flock or little flock?"

"Couple little flocks. White birds and black birds. They're still practicing apartheid," she teased.

Troy squeezed his eyes shut tight, smiling. "It's not really... y'know. I was just joking about that."

"Mmm." Her voice warmed. "Well, they are. I'm kinda sad I don't see my favourite bird, though."

"You have a favourite?"

"Yeah. I think he's gone up north. Maybe you've seen him?"

Troy gnawed his lip. "What's he look like?"

"He's black. And he has a pink flicky tail, and a pink twitchy nose, and big ears and he thinks he's a mouse but I know he's a bird."

Troy shuffled his cold feet. Cold, despite the black fur. His tail, though he didn't think of it as pink and flicky, was worse off, though. He pulled the dry part of his blankets over it. "He's a bird, is he?"

"Mmhmm," Jennifer affirmed. "He flies way too much to be a mouse. Up north and down here and Europe and back. He migrates a lot."

"He does," Troy agreed miserably.

"Do you think you could give him a message if you see him?"

"I don't speak bird, but I'll try."

She hesitated a long moment. He heard her throat work uncertainly, framing not quite words. Her voice was thick. "There's a girl-bird who..." She stopped. Took a breath. "... Wouldn't mind if he showed up in her nest," she wheezed out after a moment.

"Is this the girl-bird with the stripes? And the cute nose and stunning eyes and red hair I wanna kiss?"

"Y-yeah," she whispered, loosing her tightly held breath in beautiful laughter.

"I'll pass it on," he promised. "Maybe you aughta tell girl-bird I love her."

He could almost hear her smile. Almost. "You mean boy-bird loves her."

"I mean I love you, Jen."

Soft and gentle silence. He smiled.

"You should call me more often, Troy."

"What, at this hour?"

"Any hour," she blurted. "I... I don't care."

Troy paused, examining the carpet between his feet. "I'm sorry for waking you."

"It's alright. You showed me the sunrise. It's pretty."

"You're pretty."

Jennifer laughed again, slow and soft. "Thank you. Do you need to go back to sleep?"

Troy glanced back at his bed. The towels he'd tossed down, soaking up the damp left by the vomit. "Don't know yet," he breathed.

She always hesitated. Always paused, unsure if she was allowed to be curious, allowed to ask. She was, she absolutely was, but to his shame he still felt a pang of fear when she asked, "Was it bad?"

"Yeah." He bent his head down, brushed his fur flat looking for the surgical scar. "Berlin wanted his liver back."

"Sweetie. Berlin loved you, he was your brother. He wanted you to live, to be happy."

He couldn't find it. There were too many incisions, pale marks in his flesh, and he couldn't tell all of them apart. But at least none of them were bleeding, like in the dream. He shut his eyes. "I know."

"You going to be okay?"

Troy took a slow, even, deep breath. Filled his lungs and let them empty. He remembered how to breathe, and even if his throat felt a little raw he was alright. "Yeah." He nodded. "You should, uhm. Get back to sleep."

"Okay. Sleep sweet. And don't forget breakfast, and, uhm. Girl-bird."

He smiled. "I won't. Uh, shit. I mean I won't forget girl-bird. And I will sleep sweet."

"And breakfast?" she prompted.

"That too."

"Okay. Promise you'll call me tomorrow? After you get up?"

Troy curled his toes awkwardly, grinding heel against shin. "If, uhm. If you want."

"I want. Promise."

"I promise."

"Good. G'night."

"Jen?" He crushed his foot against the floor, bit his lip, hard.

"Mmm?"

Troy took a deep breath. "You don't have to... to say anything. I just want to say I love you."

"Troy?"

The second breath shook. "Yeah?"

Jennifer sat on her bed, he could hear the springs.

He took a deep breath, through his nose, as if he could smell her from a thousand miles away.

He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. "Jen?"

"You're my guy." Jennifer hesitated a moment before saying it again, louder. "You're my guy, Troy. M'kay?"

No vinegary vomit smell, no damp old coffee, no, just this dry dusky Jennifer scent, her dry fur warm in the sun. "'Kay. And you're my gal."

"Yeah," she agreed. "I am definitely your gal."

"Mmm. That works."

"Good. Now go sleep," she ordered.

He grinned, even though she'd never see it. "You too. I'll call you tomorrow."

"So we don't even have to say goodbye."

He shook his head. "Nope. Don't even."

"Wanna leave it connected? I'll only switch it off if you're still asleep when I gotta go to work."

He set his phone down on his desk, leaned close. "Okay. Goodnight, Jennifer."

"Goodnight, Troy." The swish of sheets and blankets, the slight sounds of the mattress. A damp rustle. "That was me kissin' you goodnight," she whispered.

He settled his fist against the desk's edge and kissed it loudly.

Jennifer giggled. Settled, resettled. Sighed longingly, maybe, or just took a breath.

He listened to her sleep and very, very quietly opened his blinds and watched the sunrise when it reached him. She was right.

It was a very, very pretty sunrise.