The afternoon storm had rolled in unexpectedly, catching the group of them unawares and without brollies. It was Dalarius who ran for the chip shop first, huddling in the scant protection of its eaves as water streamed down in front. Everything below his hocks would be soaked; he accepted that. This was merely about keeping the rest as dry as possible.
His friends were still trying to find cover under trees and inside bus stops, shrieking with laughter and running from one piece of poor shelter to another, and he watched them with a heavy heart.
Does it have to be tonight?
He killed that line of thought before it could go any further. Yes, it did. It had been a long time coming, and he’d worked himself up to get it done before…well. They’d all be leaving sixth form soon; he might never see any of them again. He wanted them to know, and if he didn’t say so now, he never would. He knew he was a coward in that respect.
A handsome lion came sprinting across the road, paws holding a bedraggled piece of paper over his head. He got a mouthful of water as he broke through the silvery wall of it streaming off the roof of the chip shop, and laughed like a madman, spitting it out and shaking his head, sending freezing droplets everywhere. The feline ran a paw through his mane, slicking it back, his eyes bright; alive with the thrill of it all. He looked over at Dalarius. “Fucking mental,” is all he said, a fat grin filling his face.
“Were you holding a newspaper over your head, Jeremy?” the stallion asked, with a smirk.
“Well, shit, I thought it would be thicker!” Jeremy said.
“Hey, that’s what your last three girlfriends said too.” Dalarius giggled as the lion aimed a punch at his shoulder.
“Fuck you,” the feline said with a grin. Dalarius had to look away at that. A comment like that hit a little close to home tonight.
Their other three friends had ended up in the lee of a tall building on the other side of the road, where an overhang provided a little protection from the hammering rain. Dalarius tried to gesture them over, but they stayed put. “Come over here!” he yelled. “There’s more space!”
“I don’t think they can hear you, man,” the lion said. The rain was drumming on every nylon awning and car roof on the street. The feline turned, looking into the chip shop they stood in front of. A sour-faced crocodile glared back at them. “And I don’t think we’re welcome inside, either.”
Dalarius turned to look for himself, and the crocodile’s scowl deepened as the two young males stared at him. “Yeah…” Dalarius said, giving the crocodile a friendly wave, which did nothing to melt his icy look. The horse huffed and made a pragmatic face. “We’re gonna have to run for it,” he said.
“I’m not running in this!” the lion exclaimed. “It’s fucking freezing! Look at my mane, Dal!” He swung a lock of soaked hair into the horse’s eyes. “I already look like the world’s saddest shampoo ad.”
“Exactly! You can’t get more soaked, Jeremy! And my place isn’t far. Four blocks. We can dry off there. And anyway…” He stuck a hand out into the falling water. “I think the rain’s slowing…” An actinic bolt of light, and a rumble that made the ground shudder, begged to differ. The stallion pressed on. “It’ll be quick. We run, and then we’re home. I’ll go tell the others.”
He needed them all together when he did it, and the cloudburst threatened to derail his plans.
The stallion started sprinting before the lion could change his mind. It was fucking freezing, though, and in the few seconds he took to dash across the road and reach the other three members of their party, he’d started shivering. The other three furs stared at him in consternation.
"Gonna…r—run home,” the horse gasped, teeth chattering, rubbing his arms in a vain attempt to stay warm; the rain whisked away every mote of heat. “Couple minutes. It’ll be quick. Then w—we’re sorted.”
Oliver’s long donkey ears still stood straight, up despite the rain. “You sure, man?” he asked. “You look pretty cold already. And your place isn’t that close.”
“Yep, yeah, it’s fucking cold. But where else are we gonna go? The sooner we start, the better.” He looked at the other two. Bill nodded rapidly, not saying anything; the stoat was thin, and must be feeling the cold more than the rest. Andy was on the fence, indecision painted over his lutrine face, and Dalarius pressed him next. “C’mon, Andy, you won’t die. Aren’t otters supposed to love water?”
“This isn’t normal fucking water, Dal. It’s Mother Nature pissing on us,” he growled. But he looked up at the darkened skies. “This is gonna take ages to stop, though. And Dal’s place is closest.” He was silent for a second, and then — with a yell — he pushed Oliver out into the rain and dashed off up the pavement, in the direction of the stallion’s house. Oliver brayed angrily as the freezing rain started soaking him, and sprinted after the lutrine, screaming threats of retribution. Bill gave a small sigh and started jogging after the other two, while Dalarius turned to gesture Jeremy over to join them. He could hear the lion’s roar of displeasure from across the street, but his friend flattened his ears and ran after them.
The five young males spent the first block in a dead sprint, trying to move as quickly as possible. They were the only people on — or next to — the road in this downpour; even vehicles seemed to have chosen to sit this storm out. Past warmly lit restaurants and snug homes they dashed, each looking more inviting than the last as the cold winter rain soaked them down to their skin. But after a point, they couldn’t get any wetter…and boys will be boys.
Oliver was first, jumping deliberately into a puddle to splash Bill. The stoat screamed in fury, pushing the donkey to one side as the equine chortled. Jeremy laughed and joined in, splashing the stoat from the other side. The lithe mustelid whirled, his eyes wide. “You fucking bitch!” he yelled. He paused to bend down and scoop up a handful of muddy, leaf-infused water, and hurled it at the lion, catching him directly in the face. The feline spluttered and growled, kicking up water into his friend’s face response, and Dalarius laughed — which earned the stallion a mouthful of leaves from both of the others.
The final leg of the sprint should have taken half as long as it did, but they’d turned off the main road and were into the green suburbs — with lots of opportunity for horseplay. They hid behind hedges, and short walls. Mud flew back and forth, and they yelled and squealed and mocked one another. The rain was as hard and cold as before, but they were a team. They were friends. It was just what you did.
It made Dalarius feel good. Confident. Perhaps it would be alright after all. They’d understand. They knew him.
At last, they made it to his house. As his cold fingers struggled with the keys, a clod of wet earth thumped against the wall next to him. “Hey!” he yelled. “Fuckers! If you get dirt all over my house, I’m going to fucking geld you.”
“Then only Oliver’s got to worry,” Bill quipped, and the donkey stuck his tongue out at him.
The door swung open, and they all fell inside. “Wipe your feet!” Dalarius screeched, but it was probably hopeless. He sighed, mentally eyeing the carpet and wondering if he could get it clean himself. Only Oliver stopped to wipe his hooves, and the stallion gave the jack a grateful look. “They’re a bunch of animals,” the donkey said sympathetically, and the horse chuckled.
“It’s fine. Should have thought of this before I invited everyone over, huh?”
Oliver smiled at him. “Appreciate it anyway, man. It’s fucking cold out there.” He patted the stallion’s shoulder as he went past.
Andy had already dug a pile of towels out of some cupboards, and the five of them set to rubbing themselves down. Bill’s little body continued to quaver even once nominally dry; he was simply too thin. “Fuck this,” he growled, at last. “I’m gonna take a shower. Still feel like a furry popsicle.”
“Name of your dick,” the lion said instantly, earning a guffaw from Oliver. It was a running joke between them; in fact, Dalarius thought it might be the longest-running one. Ever since they all met, nearly ten years before. One of those pieces of social flotsam you accumulated as time went on, jamming into the spaces between you, keeping you together. The horse smiled, his mind flicking back over the years. They were good people, mostly. It would be alright…
“You’d know, faggot.”
Dalarius’ heart skipped a beat. The line was tossed back casually as the stoat walked upstairs to go shower, and got another hearty laugh from the donkey. Neither the lion nor the otter so much as glanced up, continuing to rub down various body parts. The stallion’s eyes flicked back and forth across their faces guiltily. Not so much as a blink. Bill may as well have asked for the time. Dalarius’ stomach felt uneasy. This was why…this was why he had to do it. It — this had to stop. They’d understand.
He rubbed the towel over himself more slowly, frowning a little. He knew this was the right thing. So why did he feel like he was making a huge mistake?
He clenched his jaw. For once in your life, don’t be a fucking coward.
Bill returned several minutes later, warmed through and looking perky. “Hey, horse, got anything to eat?” he asked. Jeremy echoed the question, and the five of them wandered into the kitchen. Snacks were pulled from drawers, and small talk was had. Dalarius hardly joined in; he was trying to fight down the rising feeling in his gut. They moved through to the sitting room, throwing chips at one another and drinking from the bottles. Just five people, hanging out. Five friends. Four guys, and one stallion. Four normal people, and one…one freak.
Dalarius started when Oliver tapped him on the shoulder, and his head whipped around. He must have looked strange, because Oliver’s face grew quizzical. “You alright, Dal?” he asked.
You won’t get a better time. Own it, coward. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. DO IT.
The horse got up awkwardly, but felt his stomach get left behind. “Guys. I gotta…” He gulped. The others were looking up at him casually, not entirely done with their own conversations. The hole inside where his stomach had been was filling with ice.
“You drunk, horse?” Jeremy asked him absently, dropping a handful of chips into his mouth. He nodded at something Bill said. “Holding out on us? Thought you didn’t have any beer.”
Dalarius wrung his hands. “No, uh, I…” Gulp. If he didn’t stop gulping, he’d never speak again. “I gotta tell you guys something.”
That earned him a little more focus. Oliver glanced up at him while Bill and Andy continued to speak.
“What is it, queer-stallion?”
Jeremy’s casual insult crystallised Dalarius’ resolve. The stallion stamped a hoof, making the other two of his friends look over at him in surprise. The horse’s mouth opened, but it took him a couple seconds to speak; so, when he did, it was into complete silence.
“I’m…” DO IT. “Gay.”
The silence deepened, and Dalarius watched the expressions playing out. The shock showed him their true feelings, and they were…bad. Jeremy’s, right before him, was the first: a disgusted snarl that formed from a deep place, without thought. He dropped the packet of chips he’d been holding and stood up in front of the stallion.
“What the fuck did you say?” the big feline asked in a low, mean tone.
“You heard me.” In truth, he didn’t know if he could say it again. His muscles were shaking, and the tremor in his voice betrayed him. At least in Jeremy’s case, he needn’t say any more: the lion simply turned and walked away. The slam of the door was much harder than it needed to be, and Dalarius had to choke down a sob. Of all of them, he’d hoped Jeremy would understand best. When Bill stood, a few moments later, and made to follow him, the stallion’s resolve wavered a little. He held it together by a shoestring.
Then Bill spoke.
“Fucking faggot bitch,” the stoat snarled. “Lured us here to watch us undress, fuckhead? You’re a disgusting fucking pervert. Were you fucking spying on me in the shower?” He spat onto the floor in front of Dalarius. “I hope you get AIDS and die.”
The loathing in his words pushed through the stallion’s weak barrier. Dalarius’ tears were hot down his face, but he was shaking as if freezing still. “Bill…” he tried to say, but his voice couldn’t fit through his throat anymore. The door slammed for a second time, but it was when Andy — and then Oliver — also stood that Dalarius’ resolve collapsed entirely. He’d misjudged this all so very, very much. Fighting back the desire to cry out loud, the stallion whirled, hurrying for the stairs.
“Yeah, run, you fucking queer!” Andy yelled after him. “Go beg some faggot king to fuck your shithole, you fucking pervert! If I ever see your fucking face again, I’ll fucking kill you!”
The downstairs door slammed a third time as he ran into his room, falling onto the bed as sobs wracked his body. He curled into a ball, head tucked into his arms. All he could feel was the shame, the fear, the cold unrolling of tension through his body. They’d all rejected him. Every single one. He’d thought one might…maybe two. But all of them? And such hatred…it burned him still, melting the ice in his belly and making him whimper in agony.
So. He was alone, now. This was how it ended. A decade of friendship, severed. Perhaps that’s what he deserved for being what he was, though. He was a fucking pervert, after all. Why else would he want to see guys naked…touch their dicks…lick their assholes…
Fuck that.
The little voice was the same one that had prodded him months ago. The one that had said, perhaps it’s time. The one that had told him he’d be better off if they knew, if he didn’t have to hide anymore. Clearly, that fucking voice had been wrong. His heart was wrenched apart, and he bled pain.
Nope. They’re the problem, not you. Always were.
It was a hard thing to think. It felt like betrayal. Could it be? Was ten years of friendship really so easily thrown aside? It had been for them, but…for him?
The rain played a loud staccato on the roof as gears turned in his mind. He knew he couldn’t change, no matter how he hated it. He’d tried, over and over. But they hadn’t tried. They’d made no effort at all. They’d left, immediately. No questions, no trying to empathise with their friend. Friend! What sort of friends…they were the ones at fault! Not him! Why was he letting them make him feel bad?
The heat of their rejection burned him still — but now boiling his insides to white-hot rage which surged through him, drying the tears up. As the anger built and built, he pulled his head up from his arms, screaming at the empty doorway.
“Fuck you! Fuck all of you!”
Except the doorway was not empty.
Unexpectedly, Oliver stood there. One hand rested against his rain-damp shirt awkwardly, and the other hung limply at his side. Belatedly, Dalarius realised he’d only heard the door close three times. He glared at the donkey; he’d always laughed the hardest at the slurs.
“Come to gloat?” he snapped. He sat up, wiping away the remaining tears. None replaced them.
Oliver took a sharp breath at his tone, looking shocked. “No…no, Dal. I…” He stared down at the floor, and his next words were so small they were barely audible.
“You’re very brave.”
“Don’t patronise me!” the stallion snarled, and the donkey winced. He edged forward, sliding his hooves across the floor until he reached the bed. He sat down an arm’s length from the other equine.
“I—I’m not,” Oliver said softly. There was something in his voice that held Dalarius back from another snarky comment. Rage still coursed through him. These fuckers…
The donkey took a deep breath. “I…could never do what you did,” he said. “Even though I…I wanted to.” His eyes look steadfastly down at the floor. “When they said…those things…I was scared they would…so I—I laughed, so they wouldn’t…” He sniffed, wiping a sudden tear from his eye. “I was so scared, Dal…” he whimpered. Words full of suffering.
Dalarius stared at the side of his friend’s face. The donkey wouldn’t meet his eyes. Was he saying…?
The donkey slid a little closer, and one hand reached out for Dalarius’. The stallion didn’t pull away, and the donkey let his breath out with a shuddering motion. “I thought I was alone,” he said in a voice one step removed from a sob, and the simple pain of that line cut through everything the horse was feeling. He knew that pain. He’d lived it for years. And for those same years, Oliver had lived it too…
Dalarius slid closer to the donkey, deliberately placing a hand on his thigh. The donkey looked up, eyes wide and brown and hopeful. Dalarius stared back into them. “I did too,” he said in a strained voice, and felt his heart break again as the donkey began to weep. “But…now I’m not.”
Oliver shook his head at that. “We’re not,” he corrected him, with a wan smile, and Dalarius grew choked up, and simply nodded in response.
It was Oliver who reached up first, to cup the stallion’s muzzle, but it was Dalarius who moved forward, spreading his lips to brush them against his friend’s own in a soft, electric meeting.
The rain hammered blindly against the roof. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The storm was at its peak now, but it would pass, in time. They always did. Far below the rumbling clouds, two equines embraced, finding in one another a hope they had never expected.
And high above the clouds, the stars were shining.
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