Almost Let Go
#2 of Free Association
A wolf tries to choose between irrational action and cowardly inaction. When you know what's best for yourself, it's brutal to long for something else. 3630 words.
Hi, everyone! Welcome to Free Association, Episode 2! Be sure you catch the first one if you're new to the series.
I feel like this one really starts to show more of where the series is going, and what it's going to be about. Hope you guys like!
_ Monday. _
Brad's smile had returned; he slurped his coffee slowly, tail swishing as he ambled slowly back the way he had come, musing. That turned out rather well, he thought to himself.
Especially considering that the raccoon he'd met so abruptly had undergone a nigh-instantaneous transition from 'annoying texter' to 'object of sympathy', and then 'someone in need of help only he could render'. His shoes thudded against the concrete as he thought, moving in and out of lamplight mutely.
Now that the intensity of the moment had faded, the frantic rushing to and fro... Brad was a little surprised - and of course thankful - that he hadn't gotten angry at the guy for tripping him and spilling his coffee. Naturally, it had helped that he apologized, and that he bought the wolf another (Brad sipped it again as the thought occurred to him). Yet the reaction was still a strange one for the wolf.
He supposed what must have cemented his stance was those first few moments. Somehow, his emotional intensity had never crystallized into anger, the way it always seemed to. What was it? Was it the way the raccoon had behaved? The way he'd helped the wolf up? The way he'd reacted to that sad puddle of coffee, or his report's demise? By every fragment of logic the wolf had collected about his often illogical self, his behavior made no sense; he ought to have been pissed, not...
Not what? Concerned? Sympathetic? Guilty?
He was walking along a dark alley just off campus, now, paws in the pockets of his leather jacket (the empty coffee cup was taking a long vacation in a trash can outside the chem building). A chill wind ruffled his long bangs, and the moonlight beat down upon him, flicking in and out from behind the clouds.
The same moonlight that had, not long ago at all, touched fur of a different color, a different texture, as Brad pulled away, licking his lips. A slightly stilted pause, too brief to register as truly uncomfortable. And then that smile...
The wolf breathed out slowly, feeling the memory of warmth against his mouth. Perhaps there was a simpler explanation to all of this.
Come to think of it, in the realm of unusual behavior, he was clearly ignoring the mountain for the molehill. What the hell had possessed him to lock lips with a guy he'd known for all of ten minutes?
A surge of nervous angst raced through the wolf; his expression deepened into a frown. Brad never hit on guys until he knew their orientation, or at least until he had a good idea of how they might react. It was both a feature of caution, and a simple attribute of his personality; aside from the trouble he could get himself into, he just wasn't comfortable flirting with a complete unknown. The raccoon could have... statistically, should have... totally freaked out. Even most gay guys wouldn't've liked being kissed by a complete stranger.
And yet, he'd... smiled.
It was too much to believe... to hope... that he'd coincidentally encountered a random stranger who just happened to be gay, and just happened to find a deadbeat wolf to his liking. And yet, as he affirmed that, Brad found himself aching with that same hope. Which was even more frightening.
In reality, since the Dillon thing had finally resolved itself in February, Brad hadn't been too keen on the idea of another relationship. Or even a fuck-buddy-ship. Never mind that it had been eight months and a few days. Until a half an hour ago, in fact, he'd been quite sure it wasn't yet time to start putting himself out there again.
Hell, he was still pretty sure of that. Getting... involved with someone was not a good idea. He clearly wasn't over Dillon yet.
Savagely, Brad actually tried to recall his last boyfriend. He certainly had plenty of memories of very good sex with a very attractive blacktip shark. Plenty of memories of those clear, hard eyes and lancing profile, the smile that flashed daringly across his features... Memories of what it felt like, when they held each other late at night, and Brad believed (earnestly) that this male really cared about him.
What a fucking idiot.
He cringed a little as he climbed the stairs in his apartment building, and paused on the landing, forcing himself to analyze his reaction to that mental self-mutilation.
Yeah. He wasn't over Dillon yet.
The wolf gritted his teeth. He wanted to growl, or howl, but it was late and people were sleeping, his roommate Marty in particular. He settled for jamming his key into the lock with undue force, cranking the door open like he was braining someone with a blunt object. Preferably a certain selachimorph.
After entering the apartment, Brad shut the door more gently, and softly fell back against it, wrapping his arms around himself, ears dropped quite low.
Goddamn it.
"Probably an annoying little fuck once you get to know him anyway..." the wolf grumbled, trying not to think of moonlight dancing over dark fur, warm chestnut eyes and a slowly rising smile that...
He paced over to the fridge and grabbed a coke. Changed his mind and grabbed a bottle of wine. Dad would have had beer; Brad had never liked the stuff much.
Returning to the living area with his drink (in a mug), he sat down on the futon, which was perpendicular to the couch and across from his desk and the TV. The screensaver of his computer glowed, reminding him of the raccoon again.
It occurred to him that he didn't even know the guy's name. There hadn't been time, in the midst of all that was happening. He had no name... and no number to call, no way to get in contact. No way to find him again. All he knew was that there was a raccoon in the english building at this very moment.
Maybe it was better to just let the guy slip away. He'd done a good thing, right? Helped someone out? A relationship, even the attempt at one, would not be a good idea.
And who was to say he deserved the chance, anyway?
The wolf took a hearty swig. His eyes settled on the streak of moonlight crossing the room, just touching the toe of his shoe.
Nice guy with a nice smile and nice fur and a nice ass. Brad had seen it before. He'd had chances before. He'd blown them.
Clearly, whoever made the decisions had decided he wasn't worth wasting hearts on. Too troubled, too grouchy, too out of shape, too plain, too boring. Too much of a failure. The few nice guys he'd had a chance with had either gotten away from his wretched claws, like Wallace... or turned out... not to be so nice after all.
Like Dillon.
He was better off not risking it. He had a job, he had a life, he was barely holding on to things as it was. More drama and trauma wouldn't help. He wasn't sure he could handle another crushing defeat. He stared at the carpet for many minutes.
Bradley Wilson, miserable fuck extraordinaire. Give 'im a round of appaws.
Sluuurp. The wine stung his throat as it ran down.
He'd have to be more careful next time. In a way, the raccoon's reaction to his out-of-the-blue kiss had been even worse than a freak-out. Brad didn't need a reason to consider these possibilities seriously, he needed a reason to put them out of his head. All the encounter did was put him on the futon drinking alcohol in the dark, staring at the screensaver and the couch and that white patch on it where...
Hold on... What was that?
The wolf stilled the nearly empty mug halfway to his lips. Slowly, he leaned forward. There was something on the couch, and he couldn't fathom what it was. It was about the size of a purse, but oddly flat, and he couldn't imagine why someone would have left a white purse sitting on his couch. Marty clearly didn't have anyone over; he had to be up at three in the morning... and besides, wasn't it after labor day? Wallace would have been horrified.
Intrigued, he leaned forward, trying to decipher what the object was in the low light. The wine was reaching his brain; he was starting to feel better, or at least more distanced from his whinging and whining. Fuzzy, comfortable, quiet.
The wolf finally stood, tail flicking curiously, inching around the small table that served more as a footrest and junk depository than a coffee table. What was...
Oh. He realized what it was. The stack of paper had slid sideways, giving it an odd, lumpy appearance; that combined with the shadows from the moonlight and the dark brown stain on its top page...
Wait a second. Wasn't that the raccoon's ruined report?
Brad lifted the stack of paper, peering at it in the darkness. The guy must have left it behind. The paper was soft and creamy against his pawpads, the letters were all gracefully kerned and neatly set, except where they had been smeared by the now mostly-dry brown smudge. On the front page, there was a header, and he read it before he realized what he was seeing.
Jonathon Howard. Who was that?
...Oh.
Brad grew very still. The moonlight was cutting across his shoulders, now, across his shaggy fur and clear blue eyes.
Jonathon Howard. Jonathon.
He shivered a little, linking the name with that face. Everything suddenly felt much more personal and defined; he found himself thinking, That's pretty... and couldn't fathom whether he was referring to the name, or the male attached to it, or whether it mattered.
Shit. This was getting complicated. He drained the last of his mug, half intending to go back to the fridge for more. He decided he didn't need it. Didn't need to be seriously drunk on top of all this. Faculties served him well... in theory.
The wolf hesitated, and then tossed the stack of paper down with a snort. He ought to throw it out. It sure as hell wasn't doing him any good right now. He returned to the futon and sat down, curling up and swinging his legs up onto it.
Dillon had always joked that he didn't take rejection well. Toward the end, it had become less of a joke.
"What are you afraid of?" the wolf growled softly, to the room at large. The voice echoed back at him. He tried to think about something else. Work tomorrow. He ought to go to bed soon. Get smashed Friday, maybe. Maybe he'd go back to having one night stands. That had worked well for him, for a while, after Wallace. Go out and find some swishy otter or jaguar or gryphon. Give the guy a good ass hammering, make him moan and cum and feel amazing... and then never talk to him again. Was it wrong if he got some sort of vindictive pleasure out of that last part?
Yeah. Probably.
Brad found himself staring at the stack of paper again, wistfully.
Moonlight and fur and those eyes and that fucking smile...
He sat a moment more, and then pulled out his phone and glanced at the time. 9:47. The raccoon's class would be almost over.
And after that, he would... disappear.
A moment of tense stillness settled over the dark room, before Brad finally growled, "Fuck it," and stood up quickly, wobbling a little. He wanted to howl again. Maybe it was the alcohol talking.
The wolf stalked out of the apartment and thudded down the stairs. He took the streets diagonally northeast at a brisk walk, breath puffing in air that had grown cold and crisp. When he reached campus, he almost broke into a jog; the motion reminded him uncomfortably of the raccoon. Of Jonathon. Not so long ago, they'd been jogging down the street together...
It was 10:03 when he finally reached the english building; he'd been moving slower than the trip earlier in the night. As he pulled open the glass door and stomped into the deserted lobby, huffing, the wolf realized that Jonathon's class would have let out thirteen minutes ago. All its occupants had surely streamed out in a hurry; it was one of the latest classes on campus, and they had lives and better places to be, even on a Monday night.
What the hell was he doing here? What did he expect to find?
Brad stood very still, looking around at the dingy cinderblock walls and avocado-green tile floor. There was no one here. The raccoon had probably left after his class was over. Perhaps he had spared a glance around the lobby, looking for the wolf who had helped him out. Perhaps not.
"Fuck..." the wolf spat, dejectedly. He sat down on one of the benches along the wall, hunched over, staring at his knees. Why was he doing this to himself? He ought to just let the guy go. It had been twenty minutes, a flurry of motion and feelings and ill-considered actions. Why was this affecting him so badly?
"Fucking fuck..." he murmured, just for good measure. "Get ahold of yourself, dumbass." He ought to go home. Instead, he put his face in his paws, ears flopping with the motion, hanging low in misery.
A few moments later, he was surprised to hear an echoing, alternating beat. Tentative. Percussive.
Footsteps.
Probably scared some janitor... Brad grumbled internally, daring himself to look up. He didn't take that dare.
The footsteps drew nearer, echoing down the hall at the other end of the lobby he now sat in.
All right, fuck it, he conceded, looking up after all. Fuck it all.
He only had a line of sight on a triangular sliver of the last five feet of the hallway, which was definitely the source of the sound. Half the lights in the building had been turned off to save energy, leaving a dark patch just beyond it. The tension build in his chest until he thought he was going to burst; his tail was lashing behind the bench, striking the wall.
Finally, someone came around the corner, and stopped, looking at him. A little short. Broad shoulders, roughly average weight (on the heavier end of it), big fluffy tail. Wearing a hoodie and gym shorts, and the sneakers that had made that sound. A raccoon.
Brad gulped. "Jonathon?" he asked, mind gone quite blank.
The raccoon stared at him dumbly. "Um... hi..." he offered, after a moment. He came a little closer.
Brad looked at him as he came into the light. Pointed, narrow muzzle. Thick, fluffy, dark brownish-gray fur. The mask, and the small, expressive ears. There was no doubt about it; it was really him.
"I didn't think you were here..." the wolf said, feeling like his IQ had plummeted sixty points (not that it was very high to begin with).
"Yeah, I, uh..." The raccoon scratched the back of his head, chuckling unfunnily. "I came out after class and... guess I just decided to stick around for a little while..." The last part came out in a mutter. "Kinda stupid, but."
"I don't think so," Brad said quickly. "I, uh, I... thought I might come by and see if you were still here. I'm... I'm glad you are." That sounded odd. "I mean, uh, you, I guess you left your other copy of your essay at my place, and it just occurred to me that I didn't have your cell number, so I couldn't ask if you maybe wanted it back..." He smiled a little, and the raccoon smiled back.
"Uh, no, you can keep it." He had a mild baritone voice, with a strange, deep underpinning that came out in guttural sounds like 'uh'. On the phone, he probably sounds taller and more muscular than he is, Brad mused. "Or, uh, throw it out or whatever. I don't want it. Turned the other one in, I'm done with it." He met the wolf's eyes. "Thanks... for that, by the way."
"No problem," Brad said. "It was the least I could do."
"I don't even know your name..." the raccoon observed, with a little smile.
"Oh. Brad. Brad Wilson. I, uh, saw yours on your paper. Jonathon, right?" A surge of nervousness accompanied the statement; what if he'd gotten it wrong somehow?
The raccoon nodded a little. He was standing about five feet away, paws behind his back, tail swishing slowly. So. He was Jonathon. And he was...
...Cute.
"Come here, sit with me," the wolf said, patting the bench. His mouth felt dry.
Jonathon approached readily enough, not hesitant, but not overtly eager, and sat with him. He settled a comfortable distance away, but not too far.
"So, um. Did your paper thing go okay?"
"Yup. Turned it in, not a disaster. Think it came out good, too. The writing, I mean. I was pretty proud of it before... everything happened." He shuffled his footpaws a little. "Still, I think I'll do good on it."
"That's good. What's your field?" Making small talk, he supposed. Get to know the guy a little better. Gosh, he was cute. Their tails brushed underneath the bench; it made Brad shiver.
"Uh... probably chemistry. Or chemical engineering. Maybe biology, not sure yet." He grinned a little. "I'm getting some prereqs out of the way this year, then I'm transferring to State next year."
"Oh. Sounds good." Brad tried not to imagine him in a labcoat, safety goggles pushing up his spiky headfur; the image was too adorable.
"How about you? You in for the long haul?" The raccoon looked at him, and Brad got the sense he was referring to the fact that the wolf looked older than most students.
"Uh. Well, no. I'm, um, going for an associate's. Working part time, going to school part time."
"Oh. Where do you work?" Jonathon asked politely.
Brad almost blushed. "Uh. Stockway, down in Margretsville." One of the cheaper grocery store chains in the area, one step up from a box store.
"Ah." The raccoon didn't comment on that; he didn't seem to know what to say.
The wolf decided it was time to switch topics, but he could think of only one other thing, which he didn't particularly want to get into. But it beat lapsing into an awkward silence, he supposed, and the liquid courage from earlier helped. "Listen. Um. I wanted to ask... Can I get your number?"
Jonathon blinked at him, and was still for a moment. "Uh, yah, sure." He stuffed one paw into his pocket, fumbling with his cell phone. The phone that had started this whole mess.
Maybe 'mess' was overdoing it. This whole... thing.
Brad pulled out his own phone, and carefully entered the number the raccoon rattled off. He sent a text message, which began as "hey" followed by a flashing cursor, and finished as "hey ;)". Nothing wrong with a winky face, he thought, as he looked up.
Jonathon was watching him, and it became clear from his look that he hadn't forgotten what had happened in the wolf's apartment earlier that night. Brad swallowed and put his phone away. A moment later, the raccoon's phone blinked and beeped, and he clicked a few things, and them smirked a little, claws ticking on his screen. "Wilson?"
"Yup."
"Got it." He pressed a button and returned his phone to his pocket, looking back up at the wolf curiously.
"And, um... one more question, and then I'll let you go," Brad said nervously; this would be the hard one.
"Sure." Those soft brown eyes fixed on him intently; the ears above them perked.
Brad gulped. "Would it be okay, if... I called you? Maybe tomorrow? And we could... make some plans?"
"What sort of plans?" the raccoon asked steadily.
The wolf sucked in air. Gosh, this was a lot harder than he remembered. "I... I wanna take you to dinner sometime. If that's all right."
The raccoon blinked, tail flicking. The same smile he'd borne earlier slowly rose in his face. "I'd... really like that, Brad."
It was like a rush of adrenaline, or maybe dopamine. Some combination of the two. Brad let out a breath he didn't realize he'd held.
"Okay. Good. Great. I'll... I'll call you tomorrow evening, then." He smiled at the raccoon. Jonathon smiled back.
So fucking cute.
They were standing, and Brad became aware that he had an aching erection crammed into his moderately tight jeans. Fortunately for his dignity, it was angled up and to the side, so it lay relatively flat, and the hem of his jacket covered it.
"Well, uh... Good night, Jonathon..." he said, a little embarrassed.
The raccoon looked up at him. The difference in their heights was about six inches; Brad was a bit taller than average, Jonathon a bit shorter. They were standing close, but not too close; the moment felt tangled. Brad wasn't sure whether it was appropriate to kiss the other guy again. They had done it once already, but now this was more... formal, traditional. He still barely knew Jonathon. That, and he felt surprisingly shy, with the raccoon looking at him.
"Good night, Brad," the raccoon replied, seeming preoccupied as well; they exchanged smiles again. Then, after a momentary pause, the wolf turned and walked out the lobby, while the raccoon turned and went back down the hall, towards the exit at its other end.
Out in the cold night air once more, Brad breathed in deeply, and then let it out through his teeth. He began walking home.
Aaaand there we go! Problem solved, eh? Sure took a lot of angsting to get there, though. I hope everything's okay in there... *raps on wolfskull*
Just a reminder, if you didn't catch my earlier journal on the matter: There won't be an update next week, sorry! Free Association, Episode 3 will be up in two weeks, not the usual one week, so keep your eyes peeled. As always, comments and critique appreciated. Thanks for reading!