Journey of a mending heart: Pt 1 - Introduction
Main character is based off of my fursona and the feelings I had after splitting with a past mate, the mysterious figure at the end is based from a friend I've been talking to! Who? You'll have to see part two! Hint: They're a face around SoFurry :3
The wolfen male sat in the dark of his kitchen, what had been their kitchen... a crumpled up piece of notebook paper held firmly in his paw, the digits curled about it shaking mirroring the motion of his entire form. Tear-stained eyes looked out the window into the stark contrasting calm that the night outside possessed, as if only to torment the soul that gazed outward.
_______________
Three Months Later
His eyes parted as they always did in the morning, or what he would consider the morning, a clock lay on the matted carpet of the male's room its alarm long unused, the overturned face reading: "5:34 pm" this fact only momentarily glanced at by the canine as he pushed himself up. Groaning Alashion's eyes attempted to blink away the built up crust of nights spent wasting away one's self in some selfish path of self-loathing and escapism.
The room itself was a shell of what it had probably been at one point, formerly spotless desk and workspace cluttered with leftover takeout and dirtied clothing that had yet to be washed . A computer screen nearby hummed faintly in the air, the chat frames he desperately sought comfort in empty. No one wants to talk to someone who's mind simply goes to darker things despite the joy of company.
A faint, "Fff-fff" parted the air as the black-furred male sniffed beneath his arm, wincing and shaking his head, it would be satisfactory. . . it'd only been two days since he'd washed or properly groomed his look. . . perhaps a brushing wouldn't hurt anything. The creaking of springs disrupted quiet air as Lash stood and began stumbling towards the bathroom, equally unkempt in comparison to the living space.
Flipping the switch he stared into the mirror at the sight of a disheveled albeit relatively handsome wolf in his early twenties, fur pitch black in coloration covering the majority of his tone form. Two exceptions marked this uniformity, a tuft of white to be expected in a wolf running down his chest from having covered the end of his muzzle, equally matching hue coloring the inside of his ears. . . a less expected coloration being that of red, outlining any tuft of white that found itself upon the male, even marking the edge of his ears and around the male's eyes. Tired gaze remarking of how he'd once been noted for such looks, its golden centers dim.
Taking hold of abrush he brought it up to run through his somewhat thick headfur, wincing here and there when a knot was pulled out. Tossing the tool aside before heading to his room, drawer to the dresser already pulled open, perhaps the one clean surface in the room. . . peering deep into the recesses of which after a long search through it and other adjacent drawers he found his target. Sliding into a clean pair of jeans and a single unwrinkled T-shirt, perhaps the last two garments in the house left somewhere other than where they shouldn't be
.
Several minutes later the door to an apartment opened, the kind of apartment that one doesn't really want to look for, the kind of apartment one gets after they're out of work and can't afford to live in a broken home alone. Wincing as light poured in Lash looked from side to side, thankfully no one around. . . seeing as he owed rent for over a week now, the male's path turning towards the street a faint weathered sign belonging to familiar bar growing from its perch several blocks away
.
So he drank. . . nothing wrong with that he thought, it was perfectly normal for a male of age to imbibe alcohol on a frequent basis, then again the way in which he did and the quantity were not so socially acceptable. A bell rang faintly as the door it was fixed to opened without a word, the tender knew who it was, his only customer that appeared so early in the day, the one with a building tab.
The usual order was given for a particular brand of beer, followed by the path he took to a table by the window, gaze drearily piercing the glass as that first sweet gulp approached his lip, the beginning of another night without thinking about pain. . . yet, something was different in this uninterrupted routine. A figure passed by the window, an arctic wolf, his figure quite smaller and marked with unusual coloring. Lash's gaze locked on the stranger, he couldn't help but smile, the bottle hesitant for the first time in months.