FSE

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Hhhyup. Welcome to the first episode of my new serial, entitled Free Association! I gave a pretty good introduction to the project as a whole in a recent journal, so go read that if you'd like to know more. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy the story!

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_ Monday. _

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Beleaguered, the young male pushed open a glass door covered with condensation; within, the air was warm and welcoming, a nice change from the rapidly cooling, nocturnal autumn air. There was a line within, as was to be expected. He hopped in and found his place behind fourteen others, most of them students like himself. Some were hauling backpacks or books, and a few had set up an impromptu study session on the far side of the coffee shop. A leopard was waving a calculator while a vixen and a tegu looked on, the latter grasping a sheaf of paper anxiously. Such things were not to be found in the wolf's possession, at least not tonight. Instead, he carried a mild scowl, paws stuffed in the pockets of his worn jeans, his eyes lancing out from below solid brows that always made him look irritated.

The vixen tittered at something the leopard said, a paw coming up to cover her mouth as she sat back, breasts bouncing in time with her laughter. The wolf huffed, dropping his ears; the noise was annoying, a tinny stutter that made the silver hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Some part of him longed to walk back out, just to be away from it. Away from all these people and their miserable mundanity, which seemed to offend him with its very existence. It made him want to growl at something.

No matter. He tried to lapse back into apathetic boredom, and it was not hard - he was only here to fortify himself with caffeine, and what happened elsewise was not reason to concern himself. At least, not with the sort of company in which he now awaited his turn at the register. The line inched forward. His tail gave a swish.

He let his mind stray to those few topics that often hovered near the surface, one tired thought after another flitting across his mind. A 1989 Plymouth Sundance that was still - barely - pulling its own weight. It needed a new right front strut and a brake job, it needed a taillight bulb, a new battery and that leak in the cooling system fixed... Hell, it needed a new transmission and fuel injector, or a full-on radiator cap replacement - unscrew the cap, lift it off the radiator, drive a new car under the cap, and screw it back onto the radiator. Naturally, the preferable option was fiscally impossible, as were most of the others... but he could probably go pick up that bulb, at least, and maybe avoid getting pulled over again, and being late to work... again.

The image, or rather impression, of an irate mare blasted itself across his consciousness; he huffed and crept forward again, eyes boring into the mane of the lion in front of him. No telling how hard Jane would bust his balls if he showed up late for the umpteenth time, but he wasn't eager to find out. He liked being employed... or, at least, the 'receiving paychecks' part of it.

Even if it might have been doing a number on his grades. The wolf almost groaned at that, ears flicking back. He already spent enough time wondering how he was going to pass that damn math class this time around. It was better not to dwell on that one; he was only taking nine credits this semester. If he couldn't pull it off, well, maybe Dad would finally be proven right. The slovenly alcoholic had always said none of his far-flung kids were cut out for college.

There was a raccoon behind him now, a short guy with long, dark fur and the characteristic pointed, black nose. He was wearing an overlarge hoodie and gym shorts that marked him as a probable student as well; in addition, he was carrying a backpack over one shoulder, the zipper hanging open. The procyonid was engrossed in his cell phone, producing an incessant metallic-sounding chatter as his claws clicked away at the onscreen keyboard; it was driving the wolf slowly and surely insane.

The line shuffled closer.

Goddamn Dad. It had been a mistake, to let his mind wander onto the fat slob; it brought up memories of leers cast his way from a recliner, the dim flicker of the television and the stench of beer and unwashed fur. He'd gone to college to get away from all that, and here he was dwelling on it every day, hearing the echo of stinging words his father had no doubt long since forgotten in his permanent drunken haze. Still, it beat the memory of Todd Mayweather's soft lips and tongue, and the way it felt to hold his slender body close as they made out in the closet under the stairs at his sister Chrissy's sixteenth birthday party.

The wolf made a sickened grimace, ears going flat against his skull as he inhaled. Where had that come from, out of nowhere like that? The memory, which had once been so appealing, was rendered almost revolting by the intervening span of time, by the tumultuous emotions it had preceded, and in some cases caused. There were a lot of things he ought not think about; Todd was surely near the top of the list. Right below Dillon. And Wallace.

And Nicole.

The lion in front of him leaned on the counter. "'Lhava large cappuccino," he drawled. "Easy on the foam."

The wolf snorted, waiting his turn in blank impatience. He was sure as hell done thinking.

"Yeah yeah. No receipt. No thanks."

The collie at the register next to the lion turned and headed over to the other end of the bar, where furs collected as they waited for the completion of their beany beverages. A black-furred lab glanced to the next fur in line, beckoning with a look, beseeching an order from this caustic customer.

He strode forward, pulling his paws out of his pockets, and stood awkwardly in front of the counter. It felt like a spotlight swung to shine on him, his worn-out clothes and out-of-shape figure. Bradley Wilson, urban college student, grocery store clerk, and faggot extraordinaire. Everybody put your paws together.

"Small dark mocha, extra shot, whole milk, no whip, with some cinnamon, please." He wondered how that came off. Posh? Swishy? Childish? Fastidious?

"Two ninety-five."

The wolf was already pulling a crumpled wad of green paper out of his pocket; he counted out three singles and passed them to the lab stoically. Beside him, the lion was replaced by the coon.

"I'll have a large decaf soy chai latte with a shot of vanilla and white chocolate!"

Brad snorted in spite of himself; there was no way any self-respecting coffee consumer could keep a straight face at an order like that. Both the lab and the raccoon glanced at him; he tried to maintain a veil of nonchalance as the canine handed him a nickel and a receipt.

The cashier exchanged thank-yous with him, and the wolf slid down the counter to wait his turn, tail flicking in anticipation. At least he wouldn't have to deal with Ricardo in English this week, he mused, the though suddenly occurring to him. The extremely frisky, extremely gay tasmanian devil, always bearing a member of his tittering hag-brigade on one arm (much like a handbag), must have installed a military-strength gaydar underneath that shock of bleached hair he sported; he had zeroed in on the wolf in a way Brad found very uncomfortable. To be fair, the cynical canine was out of the closet... among the circles where it counted. But he didn't particularly enjoy broadcasting his sexuality to the public at large, unlike Ricardo, and public flirtation was a step too far for his delicate sense of image.

The raccoon had now followed him over to the waiting area, and was clicking away again on his phone. Brad gritted his teeth.

Most of what spurred his discontent, however, was that Ricardo kept dropping these veiled one-liners. It was infuriating. He couldn't give a retort without implying he'd considered the comment a come-on, and more importantly, he was a great deal less than interested in the marsupial. It wasn't the hair or the lisp, or even the faint layer of fur powder the devil applied - Brad could tolerate the effeminate sort, and after Wallace he couldn't fairly say he didn't find some of them attractive. A few, at least, the ones who...

Damn, there he was on Wallace again.

Click clack, clickety tick tack. Tap.

Working on his final nerve, Brad jerked his head over toward the other guy, who was a few feet away. "Hey, you. Coon," he growled. "Can ya cut that out? Thanks." He didn't wait for a response, glaring back toward the counter, but his brusque demeanor seemed to do the trick; a moment later, the texting noise stopped. The lion stepped forward and scooped up his cappuccino.

Whatever it came down to, he was extra-glad that Ricardo was out of town this week, at some wedding or another (as he had rather loudly announced to the professor before class last period; most of the room must have heard him). He could do with a bit of peace, and not just from the marsupial.

"Small cinnamon mocha!"

Finally. The wolf strode forward and welcomed the beverage into his waiting paws, steam rising enticingly from the small hole in its lid. A surge of anticipation flooded him; he gripped the cup gingerly, its contents almost too hot even with the insulating cardboard wrapper. "Thank you," he said, quite sincerely, to the bluejay behind the counter; he got a smile in response, and quirked his ears merrily.

"Large decaf soy chai!"

Bradley turned, eagerly awaiting the sweet, nearly nuptial embrace of his lips and all that caffeine. There were a few crimes he could think of, that he would gladly commit for a mocha. As he strode forward, mind occupied with the beverage he was slowly raising to his mouth, the raccoon passed him, engrossed in his phone once more.

Next thing the wolf knew, there was a spectacular crash, a sudden pain in his right elbow, and he abruptly found himself on the floor, somewhat dazed. Shaking his head to clear it, he threw his torso halfway up with a sudden gesture, looking back and up in an attempt to discern what had changed in his environment.

Roughly aligned with him, but opposite, the raccoon was also lying on the ground, cell phone still in paw, blinking in surprise; his backpack had spilled books and paper all over the floor. Most of the furs in the place were looking at them; a couple nearby had risen.

The raccoon looked at him, blinked, and then uttered, "Shiiiiiit!" and hopped up, before half-crouching by the wolf and offering him a paw. "You all right bro?"

Brad shook his head, still a little dazed, and took the paw, hauling himself up with the aid of the raccoon. He took stock; his elbow hurt from impacting the tile floor, but nothing seemed to be broken. "Yeah, I think so... Except..." He looked around, bewildered, and then saw the big fan-shaped puddle of brown liquid in the corner by the counter. His coffee had flown out of his paws and hit the floor, plastic lid bursting off it from the impact. Its contents were now flowing slowly along the base of the counter, back toward the registers.

"Oh noooooo..." the raccoon wailed in horror, when he saw the object of the wolf's attention. He then glanced down and noticed the pile of books and paper at his feet, some of which were damp from the coffee that had already reached them.. After a comical pause, his reaction was twice as distraught: "Oh no! Shit!"

He began scooping papers out of the way, tail bristling; caught up by the mutual tension of the moment, Brad hurried to help him, and then hopped up and grabbed a bunch of napkins from the dispenser by the cash register. He offered these to the raccoon, who hurriedly began blotting at an important-looking sheet of crisp white paper marked with clean, dark type.

"Noooooo..." he cried softly, and then sighed dismally. "Well, shit." He looked up at the wolf, then. "Thanks. Uh. Sorry, I think I tripped you." He began gathering his papers and books up.

"That's all right," Brad said earnestly. He had the sneaking suspicion that the accident had actually been his fault. He wasn't entirely sure why he'd walked back toward the impromptu coffee waiting area instead of toward a table or the door. "Not a big deal, nothing broken, here you go..." He offered the last book, which the raccoon stuffed into his bag again. "Is that stuff okay?"

The raccoon looked at the stack of damp papers he was still holding and sighed, ears drooping. "No..."

A cheery whistling announced the arrival of a golden-furred marten with the mop bucket. "Sorry," Brad offered, to the newcomer.

"No prollem, cleaned up in a jiffy!" the mustelid male replied, with a quick grin and a thick accent.

"Here, let's get out of his way..." Brad said, and the raccoon nodded and stood, hefting his backpack back onto his shoulder, before remembering his own coffee (now sitting atop the counter) and going to claim it. The wolf looked around; the other customers had thankfully stopped staring at them.

"Sorry about your coffee..." the raccoon said as he returned, sipping his own, sounding appropriately penitent.

Brad looked grimly at the remains of the mocha he hadn't even gotten to taste, now mingling with the dirty water in the marten's mop bucket. "It's okay." He sighed, sticking his paw in his pocket to see if he had enough money for another. A very small amount of change and one miserable bill met his searching digits; he pulled the latter out, hoping it was anything but a one.

Tonight was definitely not his night.

The raccoon observed his pocket-bound glance and accompanying eardroop, interpreting it correctly; he looked guiltily at his own coffee. "I'll buy you another."

"You don't have to," the wolf protested, following him back over to the line (which was much shorter now; only a few furs had entered the café in the last few minutes).

"It's my fault anyway," the raccoon said dismally, looking at that stack of paper again. "Least I can do is buy you a new one. Hi again, make another one of whatever he had..."

Brad looked at the black lab embarrassedly. "Uh, small dark mocha, whole, no whip, cinnamon." He left off the extra shot, partly out of embarrassment at having the raccoon pay, and partly because, after that shot of adrenaline, he wouldn't really need caffeine for hours. The cashier rang it up, and the raccoon gave her a blue plastic card, which she swiped and returned.

"Let's sit over here..." the raccoon gestured, leading him over to a table nearby; he dropped his backpack on the floor and sat down, thumbing through the stack of paper and shaking his head. "I'm so fucked..." he moaned.

The wolf sat down, tail swishing curiously. "What is that?" he asked.

The raccoon looked up at him. "My big report." He flipped several pages to show just what he meant by the word 'big'. "It's due today. In twenty minutes, actually." He sighed. "I was just stopping in for a drink before I headed to campus."

"Oh. Fuck," Brad observed.

The raccoon nodded sadly. "I had it specially printed and everything," he murmured, rubbing the high-quality paper between his pads.

The heavy weight of guilt was settling about the wolf's shoulders; why hadn't he just walked the other way? This was all his fault...

"This is all my fauuuult!" the raccoon wailed.

"Small cinnamon mocha, take two..." the black lab intoned.

Brad looked between her and the raccoon, torn, and then hopped up and retrieved his coffee, ears set back in embarrassment again. "Thanks," he said, and she gave him a grin. Nothing like a little excitement to liven up the dreary days of a retail worker, he knew from experience.

The wolf walked carefully back to the table where the raccoon was sitting, paging through his paper sadly. "Can't you just go print it out again?"

"Out of paper credits..." the raccoon replied. "Part of why I had it done professionally. Also I wanted to make a good impression. But now that's shot for sure... Either I'll look like a slob turning this one in, or I'll look unprepared because I don't have it... And my professor's a real stickler on stuff like this, oh, gawd..." He groaned, and glanced at his cell phone.

"Probably shouldn't be texting so much," the wolf remarked, slurping his mocha; it tasted great, but was soured by the tang of guilt.

"I knoooooow..." the raccoon whined. "I'm sorryyyyy." Brad couldn't decide whether his habit of drawing out syllables was annoying or endearing. Either way, he was feeling worse and worse for his role in the raccoon's undoing.

"Fifteen minutes... I can't make it home and back in fifteen minutes..." he was mumbling. "Shit. I guess I'll... I guess I'll just have to explain it to him, but oh, gawd, he is not going to like it..."

"I have a printer," Brad said suddenly, as the idea burst into his mind; it was so simple it seemed brilliant.

The raccoon looked at him, intense, but with nothing to say.

"I have a printer, and I live just a couple blocks that way, have an apartment in Sayreville," the wolf said abruptly. "Uh, do you have a copy of it with you?"

The raccoon looked at him blankly, and then exclaimed, "Yes!" and dug furiously in his backpack, before pulling out a flash drive and holding it aloft as though it were the holy grail. "Final version, same thing I took to the printer's last week!" His ears had perked up sharply, and his tail was swishing back and forth, almost like a dog.

"Great!" Brad felt a leap of excitement. "Let's go, then!" The two leapt up, the raccoon gathering up his backpack and clutching the flash drive to his chest.

They did the few blocks down Grand at a half-jog, turned onto 7th, and jogged more fully to the other end of the block. Brad fumbled for his keys as the raccoon glanced around; this was not the nicest neighborhood, and the wolf's apartment building was in need of more than a paint job. "You live here?" he asked, audibly nervous.

"Yeah," Brad said, a little defensively; it wasn't that bad of a place. Just looked a bit shady at night. He let them into the entryway, and they took the stairs rapidly up to the second floor, where another set of keys divulged a small, cluttered room.

"Have to be careful not to wake my roommate up, he has an early shift tomorrow," Brad said in a hushed whisper, guiding the raccoon carefully across the living room, which could have used a thorough cleaning. He wiggled his mouse and clicked a few times, and the monitor came on; thankfully, he'd left the machine on when he left. "Here..."

The raccoon slapped the flash drive into his paw like a nurse supplying a scalpel to a surgeon. Stat! Brad plugged it in, opened the folder, and hesitated.

"That one," the raccoon said, poking the monitor with his claw; Brad sucked in air between his teeth (it was a nice monitor!), but said nothing and opened the document. He hammered the print button while it loaded, and when the dialog box finally came up, clicked okay.

Both waited with bated breath... and then sighed in unison, as the printer hummed to life.

"There. Won't be as nice as it was, but it'll look good enough," the wolf whispered, giving his laser printer a pat; it was a pretty nice printer, from the days when he'd thought he had a chance in the graphic design program.

"Thank you..." the raccoon sighed, dropping his stuff on the wolf's couch. "You probably saved my grade in that class..."

"It was the least I could do..." Brad said, rubbing his neck uncomfortably. "I mean, it was my fault, and..."

"No, it was mine..." the raccoon moaned, dropping his voice a moment after. "I shouldn't've been texting, and you yelled at me and - "

"I dunno why I was walking that way to begin with, I was just staring at my coffee like it was a pinup model..." the wolf grumbled. "I was a dumbass. I shouldn't've gotten in your way..."

"Well, whoever's fault it was," the raccoon said quickly, stepping closer so he could be heard, "I really appreciate it, and - " His voice jumped a little, gratitude filling it; he was looking up at the wolf with soft brown eyes.

Brad reached out, gripped his shoulders, and pressed his muzzle softly against the raccoon's.

Everything was suddenly very quiet, as the printer hummed and clicked in the background. The wolf was breathing roughly through his nose; the raccoon was trembling, tail stock-still in surprise. Slowly, it began to swish again. Both of them had their eyes closed. The raccoon's pointy, wet nose was strange and unfamiliar, his narrow muzzle took some getting used to... there wasn't much 'room to maneuver'. But his fur was long and thick and soft, as Brad ran his paws up the sides of the other male's neck and face. That was nice, and on some level familiar; the wolf had always liked guys with nice fluffy fur.

After a very enjoyable fifty seconds (or so), Brad drew back and opened his eyes. Dark blue moonlight met his gaze, reflected from that fur (which went almost black in this light); everything was dim and silvery and washed out by the glare of the monitor in the background.

The raccoon looked up at him, and breathed out, very slowly. A faint shudder was audible in the sound, and tangible, under the wolf's paws.

Brad smiled at him tentatively.

The raccoon smiled back.

Behind them, the hum of the laser printer wound down. Brad blinked, and then suddenly drew away. "We've gotta get you to class!" he yelped.

"Oh yeah!" The raccoon snatched up his backpack, and accepted the return of his flash drive after Brad yanked it out of his computer. The wolf grabbed the stack of paper from atop the printer, as well as their coffees, and they left the apartment in a hurry, Brad hoping that the commotion didn't manage to wake up his roommate.

The fastest way back to campus was a diagonal sort of route, rather than the one they had taken from the coffee shop; Brad led the way, and they made good time. The two came to a screeching halt outside the english building at two minutes to nine.

"There. Made it," Brad panted, checking his phone.

"Thanks, I really appreciate it," the raccoon repeated, clutching his restored report. "I never would have gotten this done without you..."

"Never mind that, get in there, you don't want to be late now!" the wolf scolded, shooing him. The raccoon skittered off obediently, turning and waving as he went. Brad waved back, an unexpectedly warm smile finding its way to his face... marred a moment later when the raccoon very nearly slammed into a large reptile and would have surely fallen into the muddy ditch beside the entryway.

Fortunately, he caught both himself and the report, and, realizing his near-repeat of the previous disaster, he did not look around again as he rushed inside.

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Wow, that's a hell of a way to get someone's attention, innit?

Thanks for reading! Expect Free Association, Episode 2 to be up next Friday. See you then!