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Furball and Bourbon ate breakfast together, neither really talking, but not feeling the need to, either. It was nice for both of them to have the company, someone who wasn’t trying to be their surrogate sibbling, who wasn’t interested in telling them what they were doing wrong. The silence was welcoming.
After breakfast, Furball wandered home, if a little reluctantly. Bourbon sat at the kitchen table for a moment and stared at his hands. He knew what he had to do, what he had to say, he just didn’t believe it. He never meant to hurt anyone, he just… Bourbon let his head drop to the table. He wasn’t even sure what he had meant anymore. He didn’t know what he wanted then. He did know what was important. He listened to the house breathe for a moment, then collected himself and he stood. When he got to Farly’s room, the door was cracked open. Bourbon pushed his way inside, but found only Farly’s messy bed.
Bourbon’s shoulders slumped. How did he do that? He was like a ninja when he wanted to be. He hadn’t even heard the front door open. Bourbon wobbled, and caught himself against the door frame. He was shaking.
Fuck this. He needed a cigarette.
—–
Bourbon followed what he was sure were Farly’s footsteps. They were brisk, concentrated, and each step had a tail, a little drag-mark where frayed jeans dug into the snow. They went up Church Street, made a sharp turn east, towards Gateway City, and over a couple blocks, and disappeared at a bus stop. Bourbon sat down on the bench in the stop’s beat-up enclosure, and smoked another cigarette. The stop was covered in graffiti, mostly from roaming permanent marker. There were whole stories on the walls of the shelter, of guys named Pete who were most-decidedly “here” sometime in the past. A different hand scrawled “is gay” and drew an arrow to Pete, under which Pete printed a strong “Fuck you.” There was a slur against the minority humans, and a couple aimed at furs. Someone annotated that message with “the KKK sucks KKKock.” The corners of Bourbon’s mouth tugged upwards just a little. Missouri had a shitty reputation, of trailer parks and tornadoes and gun-toting rednecks, but in Gateway County, there was no room for broad racism like this.
A bus rumbled up to the stop. Bourbon looked up, jerked back to the bench, and he waved the bus off before it could stop. He stretched, stubbing his cigarette out on a crossed out “Burn in Hell FAGS!!!” tag, and started the walk back.
Bryan and Ty were both awake when Bourbon got back to the house. He found them in the garage while he was checking for TJ. The driveway hadn’t been cleared, and the Checker was still in the garage, up on little ramps. Ty was on her back on a creeper, and Bourbon could hear ratchetting coming from under the car. Bryan sat close by, not really being helpful, but trying the best he could.
“You guys seen TJ at all?” Bourbon asked. He sat down on the couch that inhabited the unused are of the garage. There wasn’t a lot to speak of in the garage. The Checker took up a stall, and there was a work bench in the stall next to it, but that stall was mostly open. Sometime before Bourbon joined the group, TJ and Ty had moved a couch out here. There was a TV on a little rolling cart, and during the summers it was always tuned to the baseball game. Today, it sat neglected in the corner. Jon’s drumset was all here, packed up neatly next to the couch. This was the last place they practiced before he ran away.
Bryan didn’t answer him. Ty probably couldn’t hear him. She stopped what ever she was doing and rolled out from under the car. She sat up, wiped her hands off on a towel, and looked around. Bryan turned away a little. He was blushing, smiling a shy little smile. Ty wore a jumpsuit from TJ’s garage, her name embrodered on a patch just above the left breast pocket. The suit was dirty, smudged with whatever clings to the bottom of cars. There was a little on her face, too, around her eyes and on her cheeks. Bourbon was sure Bryan saw that.
Ty asked Bryan for an oil pan, and the wolf gladly handed it over, his tail flopping in a small wag when she asked. Ty had total control over him at that moment, and she knew it. She’d never use it, though, Bourbon was sure of that. They would always be equal in that relationship. Bourbon watched Ty slide back under the Checker, Bryan resting his chin in his hands. They had to have been doing it.
Bourbon turned on the couch. His jeans were still caked with snow, and he left little puddles where he walked. He leaned his head back. He knew TJ had rules in for his house. He made the big three very clear when he figured out Bourbon and Farly were dating: no smoking, no drugs, no alcohol, not in the house. That’s where the rules seemed to end. Sure, TJ’d probably lose his shit if he ever caught Ty or Farly drinking, not that TJ would ever have to worry. Sex, though… it never came up. Bourbon wondered if TJ ever worried about him and Farly, then realized if he had, he would have said something by now. For a moment, Bourbon felt trusted. It felt nice.
The door to the house opened. TJ stepped into the garage, carrying a box of pizza.
“Hi!” Bryan said, his tail wagging behind him.
TJ set the box on the hood of the Checker. “How’s the car coming?”
Ty slid out again. “Great.” She looked content to Bourbon, like everything was totally OK in her world at that moment. He couldn’t help but smile at that.
“Did you fix the heater?”
Ty stood, wiping her hands off again. “Oh, yeah. The heater was easy.”
“Broken fuse,” Bryan said, just a hint of pride slipping in, “like I said.”
“You say everything is because a broken fuse.”
Bryan held his hand out to Ty. “A broken clock is right twice a day. Lincoln said that.” Ty took his hand and pulled herself up. They hung on a little longer than they needed. Bourbon raised an eyebrow. PDA. Huh. This was a good day.
“He did not.”
“He did. Oh wait. Maybe it was Stalin… Either way, I totally rock.”
They opened the pizza. TJ disappeared back into the house.
“Bourbon!” Ty waved him over. “Come on.”
Bourbon shrank a little. He had forgotten he was actually visable. He took a piece and retreated to the couch.
“You don’t have to hide over here,” Ty said. She sat down next to him, Bryan following close behind.
“Sorry.” Bourbon didn’t look at either of them.
Ty petted his shoulder. “It’s OK. You’re just being really quiet.”
“I don’t want to get in your way while you’re changing fuses.”
“Fuses are done,” Bryan said, just before taking a bite of his pizza. “It’s an oil change now.”
Bourbon looked up at Ty, who shrugged.
“You don’t have to worry,” Ty said. “He’s working things out. Just like you.”
If Bourbon hadn’t known Ty better, he would have been creeped out by that. But she was smart. She knew what she was talking about.
“You know what this tastes like?” Ty asked, looking back at Bryan.
“Jon’s pizza.”
“It totally tastes like Jon’s pizza.”
Bourbon looked up again. “Jon makes pizza.”
“Jon makes all kinds of things.” Bryan said. He tossed his empty paper plate on the ground.
“He cooked for his mom every night.” Ty finished her piece, then wiped the grease on her jumpsuit. “She was always busy at work, so he cooked.”
“Huh,” Bourbon said.
“One time, at the end of the school year,” Bryan started, “he had this party, just for the four of us, and he made all this food.”
“I mean, like chicken fingers,” Ty said. “And sushi, and this amazing pizza, and-”
“There was so much,” Bryan said. “He must have spent all day making it all. And when we came over, he just sat and watched us enjoy it.”
“It was the happiest I’d ever seen him. Well, you know, as happy as he’d look.
“That was the night he let Farly cuddle with him.”
“Oh my god, yes. It totally was.”
“It was after the Incidient. I still think Farly put something in his drink.”
“That’s a dirty hooker lie.”
“He’s not dead.”
Bryan and Ty stopped. Their ears dropped, and the both slowly turned back to the Checker. Bourbon followed their gaze. Farly watched them, his eyes heavy and red, his fur damp, clumped together. The cuffs on his jeans were stiff and wet, and Bourbon thought he could see Farly shivering.
“Farly…” Ty started.
“He’s not dead. Stop talking about him like he is.” Farly took a plate of pizza and disappeared back into the house.
The garage sat silent, only interupted by the heater turning on again.
“You should go after him,” Ty said, quieter than before. She watched her hands.
“It’s not the time,” Bourbon said, as quiet as Ty. Ty put her arm around his shoulders, and Bourbon rested his head against hers.
“This isn’t over,” she said. “Not yet.”
Bryan stood, arching his back, stretching his arms over his head.
“Where are you going?” Ty asked.
“I gotta go let my parents yell at me for a while,” he said, shrugging as if to say “you know how it is.”
Ty reached out and Bryan pulled her up.
“You’re coming back, right?” She asked, walking him to the door.
“Yeah. It’s just, you know, they don’t want me coming over here all…” The door closed, and they were gone. Bourbon listened to their voices melt into the house. Ty was right. None of this was over yet. But it could be soon.
He just had to want it.
[g]
