Serval and Sheep (Chapter 37)
Brian offers advice for a friend of a friend.
"Desmond!"
The familiar coo of a certain rock dove stops Desmond in his tracks. He looks behind him in the direction of the voice and sure enough, he spots Brian earnestly trotting up to him (although it could be better described as an aggressive waddle). The sheep had long since grown used to Brian's buddy-buddy way of doing things, so he patiently waits for the bird to catch up.
"Huff... Glad I caught you..." Brian wheezes. "Lets... guh-- go together to student council!"
"I figured that's what you wanted." Desmond cocks his head to the side. "You good?"
Swallowing a particularly dry gulp of air, the bird chuckles. "Y-yup! Thanks for the exercise!"
Desmond can't help but chuckle. "Sure."
After a brief moment of helping Brian catch his breath, the two males make their way out of the main Noah building and amble towards the western Emzara building. The afternoon blesses them with a crisp breeze, which helps cool down the rock dove as it ruffles his feathers. He breathes a sigh of relief.
"What a nice chill, huh? We're not gonna get much more of this," He beckons towards the distant rattling of leaves. "Summer's gonna sneak up on us in a flash."
"Yeah." Desmond remarks without much enthusiasm. "Two days into May and I'm already starting to sweat under my wool."
"You say that but you're still wearing that big ol' jacket!" Brian jokingly prods at Desmond's navy blue coat.
It's true that he really should have no business wearing such a heavy thing for May weather. That being said, he has no intention of revealing his true motive of wearing it: the jacket still vaguely smelled of serval.
Hafsa had worn it a few days ago. Well, four days ago. Maybe it is the nose of a herbivore that is more sensitive to the smell of a potential predator, but Desmond can still catch glimpses of that night whenever he sinks into the cloth. It's a perverse reason, but he's proven himself to be pretty depraved over the past few months.
He hasn't talked to her since that day. Frankly, he has no idea what he would say. He kind of spilled an awful lot of sensitive information. He wouldn't be surprised if she wanted to keep her distance for a while. But how could they avoid each other when they are forced to work in a confined space together twice a week?
"Hey, buddy?" Demond remembers he's not alone, and is met with a pair of beady, worried eyes. "You okay? You kind of zonked out for a sec there."
"Oh. Uh... Sure." The Jacob sheep mutters. Suddenly, an idea comes to mind. A stupid one, but there are really no options left in such little time. "Actually... I could use some advice."
Brian's beak nearly hits the floor. Before Desmond can even think of rescinding his request, the pigeon's eyes have already formed constellations of excitement. "Oh my gosh, ask me anything! Oh, this is so exciting!"
Yeah, this wasn't the best idea. But, it is Brian, after all. He's one of the few animals Desmond could actually call a friend. And although he's a little... simple, he's shown time and time again that he has advice worth following. So, Desmond decides to bite the bullet.
"So...," He starts, his voice clumsy. "I have this friend, and he's having an issue with a carnie."
Brian's expression changes from "kid in a candy store" to "presidential bodyguard" in a second. Clearly, he's laser focused.
"Okay..."
"He doesn't really like most carnies, but he gets along with this one. Kind of." Desmond continues. "And they've both done a lot of embarrassing things in front of each other, but that's why they get along so well. She's a good person. But, recently... He kind of overshared a lot of stuff. About himself. Heavy stuff. So now he's worried that he's freaked her out. But they still have to work together and stuff. So... what do you think my friend should do?"
Brian scratches his neck plumage, deep in thought. "Well... first of all..."
Desmond gulps.
"I think it's super cute you're so worried about your friend!" Brian beams. Desmond restrains himself from headbutting his gut, but is thankful that at least he bought it.
"And secondly," He clears his throat, now taking a more sober tone. "I guess it depends on your friend. Does he regret telling this carnie all that stuff?"
"Well..." Desmond absentmindedly grips one of his horns. "Kind of. I mean, it's not like he thinks the carnie is going to blab to others or anything bad. But he's afraid that she won't... wanna spend time with him. That he made the situation too uncomfortable."
Brian stays quiet for a bit, clearly running the facts through his mental calculator. Desmond can't help but feel anxious at the bird's intense contemplation.
"Sounds to me," He suddenly speaks up. "Like your friend totally has a crush."
Desmond chokes on his spit.
"Woah, there!" Brian puts a hand on his shoulder. "Did you swallow a fly or something?"
"No--" The sheep hacks once air is able to enter his lungs. "Guh... No, th-that's impossible. Were you even listening?! I told you this guy is a herbie and his friend is a carnie!"
"So?"
"So, it's impossible!" Desmond bleats.
Brian's brow furrows. "That's not true. Don't you hear about intertrophic marriage on the news?"
"Those are exceptions! Outliers! You never actually see that in daily life!"
The rock dove shrugs. "Well, maybe it's not as uncommon as you think, then."
"I-- You-- Well--" The ram sputters sputters. "Where did you get such a ridiculous conclusion anyways?!"
Brain kicks a nearby pebble. "It's not one thing or another. I guess if this guy only thought of this carnie as a friend, he would just wait for the awkwardness to end without much thought. Worrying about such a stupid thing, especially since he wanted to tell her more about himself to begin with, sounds like something you'd do if you had a crush. But really, it's just a hunch." He concludes with a sheepish grin.
"That's... completely absurd..." Desmond wheezes, suddenly feeling very tired.
"I don't know, man, I'm just giving you my opinion." The bird scoots closer to his pale friend and gives him a gentle pat on the back. "You know your friend better than I do, so if I missed the mark, just ignore me, okay?"
Desmond sighs. "Sorry..." He isn't sure exactly what he's apologizing for.
Brian's eyes land on his watch, and widen in realization. "We should probably get going. We're gonna be late for student council. Unless... are you not feeling well?"
"I... don't think I am."
With Brian's insistence that I go back to my room to rest (and assurance that my absence will be explained to the others), I trudge back to the male herbivore dorm, tear the intoxicating navy jacket off of me and promptly collapse on my bed.
I wallow in guilt for having skipped out on a student council meeting (and consequently avoided a certain feline for yet another day) before wallowing in Brian's haunting words.
Sounds to me like your friend totally has a crush.
Totally has a crush.
A crush.
No, snap out of it! I'm a ram of reason, of logic! I need to think in hypotheticals.
So. Hypothetically.
Hypothetically, if what he said was true, then that means a lot of different things. First and foremost, that I'm an abnormality. Either by some innate mental defect or an accrued insanity, I've deluded myself into developing ro...romantic feelings for a carnivore that assaulted me during our very first conversation.
Hypothetically , would that make me some fetishist? Some poor sap trying to twist his shameful fear of her, even though she has been so honest and kind to him, into something more reasonable? Would this alleged ro--romantic interest be nothing but a guise for my cowardly instincts to come to peace with eventually being killed by her hands?
Hypothetically, that would mean the horrible pounding in my chest and eardrums whenever we're alone together isn't just an adrenaline-fueled fear response to being vulnerable to attack from a potential killer. It would in fact mean that a significant part of that sweat and blood is dedicated to the thrill of being in her company. There's a bit of dopamine among the adrenaline, then.
Hypothetically, that would mean I read that textbook on feline behavior not to defend myself from whiskered threats, but rather to get to know her and respond better to her needs. And that sappy romance novel... hypothetically, it's rather obvious why that piqued my interest now.
Hypothetically, that would mean Hafsa's supposed date with the secretary is the reason I was kept awake and restless for the rest of spring break, and why I began sleeping soundly once I saw them at school still single. Speaking of that caracal, hypothetically, I despise him for more than his arrogance. I despise him as a rival.
I run every interaction I've ever had with Hafsa and everything related to her under the lens of this hypothetical scenario. The more memories that resurface, the more old aches and elations that come flooding back to my consciousness, the more overwhelmed I become.
Hypothetically, it adds up together. Perfectly, in fact. So perfect that it took only a passing comment from a rock dove for it to come crashing into my consciousness. Hypothetically, there is a part in me, one that is growing exponentially larger by the second, that wants to run wild with this idea; run to her.
If that were the case...
Hypothetically...
I'm fucked.