FSE

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he waiter can't help but smirk at the two felines seated across from each other. Serving at such a classy establishment, he often waits upon many nervous couples having their very first date. Being an otter, he considers himself a romantic, and silently observing awkward lovers fumble with their words and silverware brings him back to the honey-flavored days of courting his wife. But, ever the professional, he keeps these feelings concealed while jotting down their order.

"So, a squash and mushroom risotto for the gentleman and a greek wedge salad for the lady?" He asks. Oh ho, the ladies always order salads when they want to impress their dates. Fight on, little serval!

The couple nods and thanks the server, leaving him to stride away, left alone with his musings.

Hafsa's eyes remain on the otter for longer than they have to. She just simply doesn't know where else to look. She certainly can't look her date in the eyes. After mustering enough courage, she manages to fix her gaze on his whiskers, which gleam in the candlelight like a comet's tail. It's mesmerizing enough to calm her down a little.

"I hate to admit this," Solomon speaks up after a while. "But this is my first date in quite some time. I apologize if I'm not quite in the groove of things."

Hafsa quickly shakes her head and waves off the very thought. "No, no, not at all! If taking me to such a nice place is you being rusty, then I think I'm in good hands!"

The two share a laugh. "I'm afraid you overestimate me." Solomon says in a jovial voice.

"At least you've gone on other dates before!"

The caracal raises a brow. "You don't mean.... is this your first date?"

Hafsa scratches at the napkin on her lap (claws retracted, of course). "I-I guess."

"That's quite... unexpected, considering how popular you are. I feel quite honored."

"W-well, there was Kevin." Hafsa chuckles. "He was the only other serval in my middle school; tall like you wouldn't believe. He asked me out and I said yes mostly out of obligation. On the day, he brought me a really nice bouquet that smelled amazing. But I guess it must've attracted insects, because he got stung by a bee. Turns out he was deathly allergic to bee strings, and he puffed up like a balloon! I had to phone my mom in tears because I didn't know what to do, and we ended up taking him to the ER. I don't think we ever spoke to each other after that."

Solomon snaps his napkin up to his mouth, concealing his chortles. "That's-- pfft-- some b-bad luck." His amusement is suddenly cut short by a gruff voice.

"Well you can TELL Lorene that I don't fucking care WHO keeps track of the dividends, she still fucked up by LYING to the fucking SHAREHOLDERS--!"

A grizzly bear seated in a far-off corner of the restaurant roars into his phone (which is dwarfed in his massive paw) while slamming a mighty fist down onto his table, sending bits of pasta and sauce flying. Nearby animals wince at the boom of his surly voice and try in vain to scoot away from the noise. All eyes glare at him, leaving the once romantic mood sullied with a dark stain of hostility.

The otter waiter, drawn by the ruckus, quietly scurries to the bulky customer. "Um, sir, if you could lower your voice, as the other customers--"

"It's MY ass on the line, Elwood! Yeah, hold on-- What is it?!" The bear screeches. "I'm in the middle of a very important call!"

"Yes, of course sir, but you're disrupting the other patrons--"

"Fuck's sake..." The beast grumbles, heaving himself up from his seat. "I don't have time for this shit."

With a parting snarl, he stomps off, rippling the water of nearby glasses with each thunderous step. The restaurant stews in silent tension until the otter snaps out of it.

"He forgot to pay the bill!" He squeaks, and scurries out the entrance to catch up with the dine-and-dasher. Eventually, the frigid tension begins to melt, leaving only bubbling mutters about the scene that just unfolded.

"I hope that otter will be okay... Going alone to talk to that brute..."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he gobbled the poor guy up for dessert!"

"Showing his fangs like that in public... That's beyond inappropriate!"

"Carnies are getting more shameless by the day."

Hafsa looks to Solomon in the hopes of lightening the mood. But instead of Solomon's usual unfazed expression, he wears a look completely foreign to her, terrifyingly so. His flattened ears, slitted pupils and unmistakable scowl betrays nothing but absolute contempt as he glares at the recently used door.

"Disgusting..." The caracal reviles. "Savages like that drag all of our reputations through the mud. Makes me ashamed to be a carnie."

"That was... something." Hafsa murmurs.

Upon hearing her voice, Solomon wipes away his cold demeanor in a split second, quickly returning to his debonair smile. "Sorry," he chuckles. "I got a bit carried away."

"It's fine!" Hafsa says, maybe a little too fast. "It's funny, you looked a bit like Desmond, being all grumpy like that."

The taller feline can't help but grimace at such a remark.

Hafsa tilts her head, allowing it to rest on her hand, and lets out a sigh. "You really don't like him, huh?"

"I suppose I wasn't particularly subtle about it, was I?"

The serval furrows her brow. "Weren't you the one who talked about the importance of a 'friendly office environment?'"

"We don't antagonize each other. I simply don't enjoy his company. That can't be helped." He replied quietly, suddenly stiffening.

"Why not? He's not a bad guy, once you get to know him."

The male lets out a sardonic snicker. "I admire your faith in him. I am not so pure-hearted, however. I can see he hides something within him."

"What do you mean by that?"

"It's... a little hard to explain." Solomon leans back, pondering his words. "To begin, he's antisocial and ill-mannered. And he also seems to have upset you when you first met. That should be reason enough for most. But there's more to it. I suppose you could say... he seems like the animal who would blame carnivores for everything wrong with his life."

Hafsa stays silent, but her twitching whiskers tell all.

"I dislike herbivores who think carnivores have it easy," he continues. "Like we're cartoonish villains that relish in herbivores' suffering. He doesn't understand what it's been like for you and I. What we've had to go through. It's all very egotistical."

He stops and scratches his chin, eyes shut. "Plus... there's something else. Call it a... male instinct. I just can't trust him."

Staring at the bare tablemat in front of her, Hafsa can't bring herself to say anything on the matter. What Solomon said is true; she knows it firsthand. Desmond is a herbivore so distrustful of carnies he basically accused her of being a predator during their first moment alone. Never mind that she nearly became one just a few seconds after.

But something's not right. Were Desmond truly so spiteful of carnivores, so unwilling to empathize... Why does he continue to talk to Hafsa? Not just talk, but discuss, argue, banter, admit, laugh. Why does he show her a new face every day if his heart truly is so warped? Why does he inspire her to do the same? Could it all be a self-defense mechanism? Building up favor with the threat in order to stay on their good side?

Hafsa doesn't know what to think anymore. If there is anything she's learned during the past couple of months, it's that she can't trust her own perception anymore. People can be anything and she'll truly never know any better. Like she's one to talk. That's what she's been doing all this time.

Maybe Solomon can detect the onset of her existential crisis, because he's quick to reassure her. "Of course, I'm not so petty as to exclude him from anything. I think we've both reached a mutual agreement on working together. Please don't let it worry you." Hafsa offers a weak smile.

"But we've talked enough about bears and sheep. We're here to get to know each other, after all." He continues.

Hafsa blushes. "That's true."

"Pardon me," a voice suddenly stops the blooming conversation. The otter waiter stands before them, holding two plates. "Your squash and mushroom risotto and greek wedge salad."

"Huh?" Hafsa blurts out. "Are you back so soon?"

"I'm sorry if this isn't my place to ask, but did everything go well with that bear? He seemed quite agitated." Solomon asks cordially.

The otter gently places their meals in front of them and bows his head. "You're very kind, but there is no need for worry. He paid without a fuss. Well, some fuss, but mostly due to his phone call."

The male feline nods. "I'm glad to hear it. Thank you."

"What a delightful couple," The waiter hums, almost to himself. "For every bad carnie, there's always two good ones." With that, he returns to the kitchen to pick up the next order.

"That's a strange saying..." Hafsa ponders aloud.

"Whatever it is, there may be a kernel of truth to it," Solomon replies. "It's the job of good carnivores to outnumber the predators. That way, herbivores have some hope."

---

Solomon insisted on paying the bill and on taking her all the way back to Noah's Arc. "My family doesn't care when I come back, so I'll stay with you for as long as I can." Was his only say on the matter. How could Hafsa argue against that?

The two sit next to each other on the bus to the academy. Even though Hafsa had grown comfortable chatting and laughing with him in the restaurant, her confidence has suddenly vanished with the sudden threat of close physical proximity. Even she can't help but be surprised at her own cowardice when it comes to things like this. She can feel the wrathful, accusatory glare of a thousand head cheerleaders spirits piercing her.

Yes, this is cowardice. No matter how confident she may appear, Hafsa is a coward at heart. If she were to close her eyes, and allow herself to go where Solomon guides her, she would risk everything. If he leads her astray, deeper and deeper into the unknown forest, only to abandon her there, she'd have no chance of finding a way out. Not even a serval's hearing or intuition could save her.

It's not that she doesn't trust him. Far from it, actually. He's perhaps the only other animal who could understand her. But that means he also understands what's at stake. Solomon is good to her, and she knows they'd be good together. But relationships are big and burdensome and... unpredictable. Besides being student council president, head cheerleader, an A+ student, and friend to all, she'd also have to worry about being Solomon's girlfriend. If she goes down, she'll bring everything down with her. And she simply doesn't have enough room for any more personas right now.

...Is her cowardly way of rationalizing things. The raw truth of the matter is that Hafsa is scared, terrified even. Something's telling her to back out.

Although she doesn't notice, the mental battle raging in her mind knocks her over. Her head rests on Solomon's shoulder, her ears just grazing his whiskers. The male remains in a stoic silence. Although they may not say anything, they are both felines. Their bodies know how to communicate just fine.

The way she tilts her face towards his arm is her doubt. The way he softens his muscles to draw her closer is reassurance. From the blood rushing in her ears, to the flicker of her eyes, to the swishing of her tail, Solomon understands. And because of this, Hafsa thanks him.

He stands in front of her, her backside to the dorms. Their non-verbal conversation had left the two in a trance-like nostalgia; enraptured in a bittersweet conclusion.

"Thank you for today." She musters up a soft voice. "And I'm sorry."

Solomon's hazel eyes narrow. "Don't be. I've told you before how much I admire your resolve. You're right to go with your instinct."

Hafsa giggles. "How can you be so understanding, even now?"

"Not so fast. This doesn't mean I've given up." He smirks. "I'll do my best to prove to you I'm a male you can rely on. So that your intuition has no choice but to say yes."

"That's surprisingly assertive."

"Well, as you're allowed to follow your gut, I'm allowed to follow mine. Our guts are just a bit... off sync."

"How romantic."

"I'll see you Monday, Ms. President."

"Hafsa."

"Hafsa."