The Love we Hide (Gay Furry Romance/Thriller story) MA15+

C1P3 - Bitter Journey: Day 1 *reworked*

My paws, these sweaty things, pinching at the damp edges of my bedsheets. The ceiling fan, this melancholy rhythm its been making is now just unnerving.

I'm scared because as I'm lying here waiting to fully wake up, I feel the itch coming back.

Its a real shame that I'm as tired as I am, considering that today is a school day. And it seems to be a real 'no messing around' kind of education. Some real shove paperwork in your face, cafeteria hierarchy type shit. Boring honestly, these furry schools. What's scaring me is this itch that had been following me my whole life, and after a few years of silence, it was only coming back.

Its a mental itch.

Its one that I can only scratch by doing something... but I'm scared to do these things in case I make it too regular, which may lead to Rust eventually finding out. I've told that fox more embarrassing things than there are embarrassing things for me to even tell, yet this is a secret that I can't let him in on.

I have...

Fuck... I just have to do it...

Last time, a few months back. I had this itch, only back then it wasn't so desperate. And I had tried to do the thing, but it hadn't worked. I had stuck my paws out in front of me. Nothing had happened. Thankful, that's one word for how I had felt then. Relief would be my personal favourite way of phrasing it.

The itch. I closed my eyes and tried to forget about it, trying to think of the only thing worse than that... facility...

Probably school, if I'm being honest. We've got assessments early next week so its a real shit-fight of study attempts and furs sweating everywhere. The library stinks, this time of year. That's how stressed people get over passing tests that won't even matter in a few years time.

Itching...

School. Think about school. God, you hate it. You hate it, Fetch. Errr, fuck it... fuckin' fuck school damnit-

Oh god, it needs to be scratched.

Plus, what harm could I do from trying this thing again? It probably won't even work. I haven't hurt anyone with it in years. Besides, its just me in my room. Even outside of it, I've got the whole house to myself.

I lifted my paw off the sheets and held it out in front of me, stretching my digits towards the ceiling fan. It probably won't even work...

I squinted, and reached that part in the back of my chest that seems to let me do my thing.

Breathing. My own little meditation class before school. In and out. Concentration is key. The ceiling fan hummed a its rhythm.

Pfffff, who am I kidding? This isn't going to-

It was sudden, the distortion that rippled through the air around the ceiling fan. Suddenly it wasn't humming. Well, it was... but slowed time in time so severely that it was almost stationary, the sound leaking out from the sphere of distorted air, refracting out and bouncing around the room. Making an unnatural, tinny replica of how it should have sounded. Eventually, i couldn't hold my breath for any longer and I let my shaking paw drop back down to the bed. Without even a hitch in momentum, the ceiling fan went right back to spinning. Singing that ceiling fan tune that filled by ears like dollar-store music. That sphere of distortion popped and sizzled away into the air, like how the heat from a frying pan dies away and disappears as it rushes up towards the kitchen ceiling.

"Still got it." Maybe I verbalized it because I'm bummed out. Because I'm still at risk of being taken away, dragged out of my home and kidnapped... just for possessing the itch.

No time to think about it now: a strange habit that furs often have is setting their alarm clock only minutes before school starts, so we always end up late. Really not sure why we do it... maybe its just to have something to talk about?

The bus is damp with ass-sweat and spitballs flying around like a world-war three with each side of conflict being furs with glasses against furs with soccer balls. There was even a sign next to the bus driver's chair - a ragged bear, with worn clothing and a potent distaste for this job - that served as a 'no yiff' instruction, for the older kids who always hung out at the back of the bus.

In fact, the only good part about this all is Rust, who is consistently in a bright mood. And somehow is always more attractive than the last time I've seen him. "So." He chirps, sucking down a takeaway cup of his own homemade coffee. "How have you been these past twelve hours?"

"Broke up with Mike." I say gruffly.

"About time. And... I'm sorry to hear that."

His paws, as he is a fox, are always remarkably soft and delicate. They massage at my shoulders, and I'm beginning to see why the furs in our school can't stop dating them. Rust is no exception to this. He's also got this brilliant smile that always puts me in a good mood some way or another.

I'm glad that I'm friends with him. More than friends, actually: his parents looked after me when I had lost my parents much earlier in my life, way back when I a pup with nothing to my name. Ironically, not even a last name. That's a story for much later on, however, so sit tight.

"To be honest, I don't think he was that good for you." Rust says.

He's not wrong. Mike is a fuckboy, and an even bigger bully. When he's not banging girls semi-consensually in the girls' bathrooms, he's hassling lads for money and cigarettes in the boys'.

Still, not many people are gay. And Mike... a brute as he is... has got some muscle. When he offered, I couldn't help myself. It wasn't even anything for him. I just... needed that male attention, and it could've come from anyone, really.

That's what I tell Rust, and that's enough for him in the meantime. He loves checking up on me. It doesn't even feel like a 'parental' sort of obsessing, its just this genuine part of him that really cares for me.

I really care for him, too. I hope he knows that. Unlike my other little paragraph, I'd never verbalise this to him. We've just got too cool of a relationship.

"Met this boy." Is what I decide to say.

"Fetch." His eyes widen, his tail thuds against the seat under him. For a straight fox, he's quite eager on boy-talk. "Where."

"School bathrooms, as I narrowly escaped rape."

"Oh shit." Seeing that I'm okay with it, he goes on. "What."

"Wolf. Cute one, too."

"Aww."

"Very handsome."

"Holy crumbs dude, you're blushing."

Ah shit he's right, I am going a bit red. "No I'm not. I hate blushing..."

"Blushing doesn't seem to hate you." He laughs, and seeing a fox laugh really is a sight for sore eyes. They have a way of throwing their long, vulpine muzzle back and shooting laughter up at the ceiling. When he's managed to stifle it, he asks "Who."

Okay, I'm fully red. "Dusk...?" I'm uncertain saying this, because Rust has an uncanny knowledge of random furs.

Its exhibit A, in this case. "No fricking way. I know that guy."

"You do?"

"Nah, just kidding. I'd like to, so it can help speed your wedding up."

"Rust."

"Relax, I'm messing with you." He hesitates. "But seriously, it would help."

Then we're off the bus and walking through this concrete jungle that furs seem to call 'school'. Day 1, every day feels the same. A bitter journey, that's the way I like to think of it.

Hate to admit it, but I'm a little more excited than usual this morning. Keeping my out for wolves, specifically the amber eyed ones.