Impure - Chapter Eighteen

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Chapter Eighteen

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Rivi awoke slowly, and awash in darkness. His back ached. So did his shoulder. The cheetah shifted, and found himself laying against something hard, flat, and uncomfortable. His feet were cold, despite the soft, warm blankets that smothered him. Rivi groaned, rubbing his face. He could not even make out the faintest silhouette of his own hand beneath the blankets. He tried to sit up, only to bang his shoulder on something sharp, and solid.

“Ow!” Rivi yelped, wriggling away from the unseen object. He bumped up against something else padded. He rubbed his sore shoulder, wondering if that wasn’t the first time he’d jammed it against… “Actually, Rivi, what did we just smash ourselves into?”

The cheetah felt around beneath him. He found not the soft pliability of sofa cushions, but the unyielding flatness of the floor, padded only slightly by a woven rug. Rivi flattened his ears beneath the blankets. Where the hell was he? The last things he remembered were looking at photos with Argos, getting ready for bed, and…having too much to drink.

Rivi squeaked in sudden alarm. Where the hell was he? He grabbed at the blankets, trying to wrench them away from his head. “Oh, Rivi, we’ve really done it now. What if we’ve wandered off in the night? We could be anywhere the ship, sleeping in some public alcove like a common drunk! We’ll never this one down, Rivi. Our sterling reputation will be ruined! Worse, Argos will laugh at us! No, he’ll worry for us, and that might be worse! We’ll be so embarrassed when he has to come find-” The blankets finally slipped away from Rivi’s head, revealing a dark but familiar location, albeit one viewed from an unfamiliar perspective. “Oh. We’ve just fallen off the couch.”

The feline lay on the floor, wedged between the sofa that served as his bed, and the table that sat before it. His pillows remained on the sofa, but he’d taken the blankets and most of the sheets with him whenever he tumbled off the couch. At least, Rivi assumed he’d fallen off the couch. It would explain his aching shoulder. And if he’d slept there a while, that would account for his stiff back. He grimaced, stretching his back a little. Rivi wondered if he’d slept through the impact, or drunkenly ignored it in favor of going back to sleep.

“Just how much did we drink, Rivi?” The cheetah pushed up onto his feet, only to flop back onto the sofa. Vague memories drifted through his hazy mind. He only recalled drinking two bottles of lager. Then again, he also recalled Argos informing him they’d been imperial lagers. Rivi wasn’t familiar with that term, in that context, but Argos had said something else about double strength. He leaned his head back against the sofa, closing his eyes again. “So, at minimum, we consumed the equivalent of four beers. Yes, Rivi, that sounds about right. Which, is probably the equivalent of forty beers for someone like Argos.” Rivi chuckled to himself. “No, I think that might be fatal, even for him.”

A smile soon appeared on Rivi’s muzzle. “Argos was so kind last night. He took such nice care of us, Rivi.” Embarrassment’s heat flooded the cheetah. He swallowed, his ears flattened. “Divines, Rivi, we must have looked like such a fool! I hope we didn’t say anything-” Rivi bolted upright, his eyes wide. “Oh, shit, Rivi! We made jokes about-” He paused just long enough to chastise himself. “Don’t swear! But, damnation, Rivi, we made jokes about…” The cheetah swallowed again. “The size of our…” He glanced down at his crotch. “Yes, that. We must have sounded like some street corner harlot! We’ve never made jokes about that, before. Let alone implied that it wasn’t very impressive. Which, perhaps it isn’t, but we still shouldn’t be making impure jokes about our male anatomy!” He clapped a hand over his muzzle. “Or talking about it! Rivi, are we still inebriated?”

 Rivi didn’t think so. While he was the first to admit he was quite the lightweight when it came to alcohol, he was fairly certain he’d been asleep an awfully long time. Light peeked around the curtains around the windows that looked out upon the balcony. His mouth was somehow both dry and sticky at the same time, as if he hadn’t had so much as a drop of water for days. But while his memories remained a little hazy, his mind otherwise did not seem particularly dulled by the ravages of alcohol.

Faint memories of multiple trips to the washroom also lingered. He recalled Argos warning him about that. He also remembered getting himself another glass of water, sometime in the middle of the night. Rivi still couldn’t remember falling off the sofa, though. He suspected at that point, between his bone-deep fatigue and the alcohol’s narcotic effects, he’d slept right through rolling off the cough and onto the floor. At least he hadn’t banged himself up too badly, Rivi thought. Better he’d banged his shoulder on the table than his head. He still wasn’t totally sure why his feet had been so cold, but he suspected he’d shoved them out from under the blankets at some point.

Rivi leaned forward to fetch his spectacles. He put them onto his muzzle, and hooked their stabilizing band behind his head. The cheetah looked around the room. Everything seemed the same as the night before, save for the table where they’d eaten dinner. Their trays and plates and utensils were gone, and the table cleaned up. Rivi’s luggage and photo albums were neatly stacked at one end. The cheetah doubted that Argos would allow random housekeepers into the room, given all the firearms and other secretive things he had stashed everywhere. More likely, the coyote had quietly cleaned up for them after Rivi fell asleep. Or perhaps, before he woke. Rivi already had the impression that no matter how late the coyote was up, he was still going to be awake before Rivi.

“Wish we had that much energy in the morning, Rivi.” The cheetah stood up, stretching his lanky arms up over his head. He yawned, then scratched at the floor-matted fur on the side of his head. “Must be nice to get all the rest you need in less time than it takes the rest of us to even start to feel rested.” Rivi brushed his hands down his rumpled nightclothes. “Argos?” He lifted his voice loud enough to be heard in the cabin’s adjoining bedroom, just in case. “Argos!”

With no answer, Rivi padded to the washroom to relieve his morning needs. Afterwards, he washed his hands as quickly as he could, mindful of the water restrictions now in place. The cheetah returned to common space, and poured himself another glass of water. From the looks of things, they were running low on fresh drinking water. Rivi wondered if he should attempt to locate the number for the concierge, or if Argos would prefer to take care of that himself.

Rivi sipped his water, turning on a few lights. He wandered back towards the sofa, wondering what other embarrassing things he’d done. His eyes drifted across his photo album. It was incredible to think that Argos was actually interested in him, in the things he’d done, the places he’d seen. And in listening to him talk about them. In Rivi’s experience, that was among the rarest compliments Argos had yet paid him. And he doubted the coyote even knew it. It was so rare for people to want to sit with Rivi, and listen to him talk.

As an educated Scholar, Rivi possessed a wide range of knowledge on all sorts of subjects. While the interpretation of religious scriptures, and the broad discussion of philosophy in general were among his specialties, Rivi did not consider it arrogant to consider himself highly learned. And yet, to actually find someone willing to listen to him talk about any of the many subjects he found most fascinating was a truly rare phenomenon.

It did not help that even among felines, many people would be bored to tears by the things Rivi found endlessly enthralling. Worse, for all the great ocean of knowledge in his head, whenever he actually opened his muzzle, nonsense so often spilled out. He rambled, he stuttered, he stumbled over his words, and then he grew embarrassed. Embarrassment, in turn, made all the problems worse. Even if someone was interested in what he had to say, on a given subject, it was all too common for his ambling discourses to turn them away.    

But Argos listened. Argos sat with him, at dinner tables and on sofas, and listened to the things he had to say. Argos asked questions. Real questions, not just those merely designed to trip him up, or not-so-secretly make fun of him. Argos encouraged him. Comforted him. Helped him through his stumbles and stutters, helped focus his ramblings, and even asked him to keep talking.

Argos made Rivi feel as if he could speak as well as he could write. Where Rivi lacked confidence in his own speech, he possessed it in endless measure when it came to his own written words. His essays all through his schooling had always earned the highest marks. When he was called upon to deliver speeches and lessons as a scholar, Rivi wrote himself extensive notes, and stuck closely to them. He found it easier to speak without stumbling when he was able to read his own written words, rather than trying to grasp them from the ether of his mind. Rivi had even given several highly acclaimed lectures in public that way. Yet, ask him to further elaborate afterwards, and without his notes, and he’d nervously ramble on forever. At least when he was interviewed on the radio, he was allowed to bring an extensive stack of notations with him to fall back on, for certain questions. He hoped those interviews hadn’t gone too badly, as a result.

Rivi was also certain it was the quality of his writing that had earned him the Wandering Scholar’s position. After all, while he might trip upon his own tongue when attempting to recount his adventures, it was not a speech he’d deliver at the end of his journeys. It was a book. A book, wherein, he could speak to all the other felines back home in his truest voice, and tell them of the world’s wonders and horrors in equal measure. Rivi was convinced that he’d been chosen at least in part, because they believed him capable of delivering the strongest possible written account of all his experiences.

Rivi’s eyes wandered back to the sofa. A memory flickered into his head, of himself sprawled out across the couch, with his head resting on Argos’s chest. The coyote’s heartbeat thumped in his head, the memory of it alone enough to make him shudder and tingle in ways he shouldn’t. “Well, Rivi,” he said, sipping his water. “Perhaps we shan’t tell them about all our experiences.”

Rivi flopped back onto the sofa. Despite his own humiliating drunkenness, it had bee na truly delightful night, alone with Argos. Rivi had never met anyone quite like the coyote. The coyote could be as menacing as the villains in his favorite radio serials, or as gentle as his own mother. He was so daringly, courageously open about being impure, even as he was so immensely secretive about everything else. He’d snarled at people with murderous intent, and he’d bent over backwards to treat Rivi and his beliefs with the utmost respect. And in only a few days, he’d somehow made Rivi feel truly at peace, whenever he was around. Simply by accepting him. By listening to him. By holding him.

As frightening as it was to admit, Rivi half-wished he could spend every night in Argos’s arms the same way he had the night before. He knew that was a foolish thought, and one he dared not express to the coyote. Not that he thought Argos would laugh at him. If anything, he was afraid the coyote would encourage him to do just that. But Rivi feared growing too attached, not only to Argos, but to the mere act of impurity, with impunity. Here, in their room, it was safe to be himself. But out there, in the greater, wider world, and in the cold embrace of home, it was anything but safe to be impure.

It cleaved Rivi to his core to think he would not be allowed to court Argos, simply because the coyote was also male. Truthfully, the felines back home would want him Rivi to enter into marriage with another cheetah, to have offspring and continue his father’s lineage. And yet, perhaps even that could be overlooked in the name of true love, if only Argos had…

“What, Rivi?” The cheetah waved his hand in a bitter, dismissive gesture. “A nice set of tits?” He clapped his hand to his muzzle. “Rivi! Watch your tongue! Just because Argos is rubbing you off…” He caught himself, eyes widening. “Or, rubbing off…” Rivi clamped his jaws shut. He hissed through his teeth, then forced himself to speak more carefully. “Just because Argos is rubbing off on you…” He narrowed his eyes, glancing aside. “Actually, that also has a bedroom humor context.” The cheetah gulped, and cleared his throat with a little growl, trying again. “Just because we’re picking up Argos’s bad habits is no excuse to start spitting out foul language! Yes, Rivi, do try and keep tits out of our mouth…”

Rivi sighed when he realized what else he’d just said. He hung his head. “At least Argos isn’t around to hear us, Rivi. Although, is it better or worse? It might be worse, Rivi! We’re getting tongue-tied just thinking about him.”

The cheetah laid his head back against the sofa. “Not that we’d have the courage to court Argos, even if we were allowed. Wouldn’t even how to court someone.” He waved his glass of water around. “Hello, Argos! I’ve bought you flowers! Would you like to listen to a radio serial with me? Perhaps we can hold ungloved hands later!” Rivi chittered feline laughter that was somehow musical and bitter at the same time. “Yes, Rivi, I’m certain that would sound absolutely exhilarating, to an international secret policeman.”

He turned his head, staring at the empty end of the sofa, where Argos sat the night before. Rivi wasn’t sure he’d ever spent so much time enjoying physical contact with another. It was a new, exhilarating experience for him. Yet for Argos, it must have felt like things were moving at a glacial pace. Though the coyote made it clear he had no expectations of anything beyond a simple cuddle, Rivi was certain that was Argos was hopeful, at least. And yet the coyote was ever so respectful of Rivi, and his beliefs. Rivi doubted that Argos would ever truly understand just how much that respect meant to the cheetah. How much it mattered to him.

Rivi appreciated Argos’s honesty, though. The cheetah had long known of, and struggled with, his own deep impurity. Though he’d suffered atonements, punishments, and attempted purification rites, nothing had ever changed who he was. Or how he felt. Deep inside, Rivi knew nothing ever would. And yet, neither had he ever pursued such feelings. Such impure desires. Not because he hadn’t wanted too. But because he wasn’t allowed. Because, to the Church, that was impure. That was evil. That was everything Argos told him it wasn’t.

“Argos…” Rivi took a breath. “Argos says we deserve acceptance, Rivi. That we deserve love. That we don’t deserve to be hurt, Rivi.”

The cheetah took a shaking breath, hissing at himself. “Then why did they hurt us, Rivi? Why did they slap us, for looking at a boy?” He smacked his hand against the sofa. “Why did the strike us, for touching his hand?” Rivi bore his fangs, snarling. “Why, Rivi, did they humiliate us for looking at someone? For wishing we could be with him? Why did they hurt to make us pure, if we did not deserve it?”

With a shaking hand, Rivi took a drink of water. He wiped his muzzle with the other hand. “Because we are impure, Rivi.” Rivi’s tail curled in on itself. Deep inside him, a smoldering ember of long dormant anger awoke. “Oh, who cares! So we like males! How in all the Divine’s creation is that worse than the married bishop caught with whores!? How does wanting to kiss Argos make me worse than someone who strikes his wife? We’re a damn scholar, Rivi! And the demonizing of the impure makes no logical sense! Why would the Divine Weavers give two shits who you want to fuck?”

Rivi clamped his jaws shut the moment the words left his tongue. He was swearing terribly now, and he feared what else he might say. The cheetah wasn’t even sure where this sudden outburst, this sudden anger came from. He could not truthfully say that these were completely new feelings, or that this was his first ever such outburst. But it was the first such eruption at least since before university.

Actually, Rivi thought, he knew exactly where this was coming from.

It was Argos.

Not that Rivi meant to accuse Argos of anything. He did not believe that Argos was somehow dragging him deeper into impurity’s corrosive waters. Nor did he think Argos was somehow corrupting him, or putting thoughts in his head. No, Rivi was all too aware that he had always been impure.

But never, in his life, had someone accepted him for it. And Argos had done so much more than simply accept him. He’d urged Rivi to accept himself. To realize, and understand, that he was exactly who he was meant to be. That he was not impure, he simply was. Rivi was not certain he would ever truly be able to wholly accept himself that way, but he had to admit, Argos had already opened a crack in his shameful armor. And through that crack, did the light of acceptance begin to shine.

Maybe, Rivi told himself, just maybe, he was worthy of love. Love from whoever he goddamn chose to find it with. Love from whoever chose to love him. Male, female, feline, coyote, what the hell did it truly matter, in the end? Love was love, and love itself was purity. The Scriptures themselves preached as much about it. But if love was purity, than how could loving the wrong person be impure? The logical side of his scholar’s mind chafed at the very idea. It made no goddamn sense.

Once, just before university, he had asserted as much to the Church’s vice officers. At the time, Rivi had only just reached drinking age, and was studying for his university entrance exams. To take the edge off, he occasionally went out for a beer at a nearby bar. One night, he met someone. Someone like him. They hadn’t really meant it, but soon they were laughing, and smiling, and flirting. It had been one of the rare times in his life before meeting Argos that Rivi recognized he was being flirted with. They met several times over the course of a week, or so. Aside from flirting, nothing else ever happened. Neither was foolish enough to pursue something so dangerous. They also assumed that so long as they did not draw attention to themselves, no one would truly notice them.

But they assumed wrong. And such deviancy was not allowed, especially not from the Deputy Minister’s son. As it was far from the first time that Rivi had been punished for displaying hints of impure behavior, the vice officer in charge of his case sought to try something a little different. As he was studying to become a scholar, they tasked him with writing a paper illustrating the wrongs of impurity, and why he would seek to banish any and all impure thoughts from his mind.

In all previous instances, Rivi had taken his atonement punishments, and pledged himself to be pure. But this time, things were different. If they wanted a paper about impurity, then Rivi would damn well give them one. Rivi instead presented them with a paper asserting that the Scriptures professed that all love was purity, and thus, impurity did not, and could not exist. Therefor, he himself could not be impure, for if all love was purity, then surely he was pure as well. Furthermore, he asserted that all previous atonements were invalidated, and that the bishops and officers who delivered them should themselves receive punishment in turn.

Needless to say, the vice officers did not appreciate his thesis. As the soft touch had not worked, he was sent for a harsher atonement, Deputy Minister’s son or not. But this too, was different. Before Rivi had taken his punishments quietly, trying not to cry until he was he home in bed. Back then, he’d believed he deserved every blow, for giving into his impurity. But this time, he felt otherwise. This time, Rivi snarled into every blow, his heart aflame with defiant indignation.

Every slap across his muzzle, every blow across his face, made him angrier. Until at last, only halfway through his penance, Rivi rose from his knees and refused to accept another penitent blow. Instead, he shouted at them. Told them there was no logic to their acts, to their sense. That he should not be forced to be atone for acts he hadn’t even committed. Should not be punished for the thoughts in his head, or the desires in his heart.

And they struck him again anyway.

So, Rivi struck them back.

With his claws.

He knew the moment he saw the blood splatter, that he was going to be jailed. Or at least, he would have been, had he been anyone else. Instead, they summoned his father, to complete the atonement in person. He had done so in near silence, and thus, so too had Rivi taken the pain without a single cry. He stared up at him the entire time, wanting his father to see exactly who he was striking. If Rivi had to remember this forever, then so too did his father.

In the end, Rivi thought he caught a glimmer of pride in his father’s eyes, to see his son remain so strong through his punishment. But then it was gone again, washed away behind the same ocean of disappointment Rivi always saw in his father, when the subject of his impurity was broached. They never spoke of it, after that. He doubted even his mother knew that his father finished his punishment, and kept him out of jail.

Rivi hissed at the memory. Without realizing it, he’d balled up one hand into a fist. He squeezed it so tightly it ached. On the other hand, all his claws were unsheathed and digging into his glass. Rivi downed the rest of his water in a long gulp, and then slammed the empty glass down onto the table. The whole table rattled. He lifted his hand, staring at his own unsheathed claws. That was still the only time he’d ever used them in anger.  

Argos would have been proud, he thought.

Rivi stood up again, pacing. That was the last time he’d ever shown such open defiance. After that, Rivi swallowed down all his anger, rebelliousness, and let the lifelong shame wash back over him. It wasn’t by intention, it was just the way things went. He didn’t want to punished, anymore. Nor did Rivi want his father to have to save him from himself, again. It was more than Rivi could handle. The disappointment in Rivi’s impurity was difficult enough to take, but it was worse knowing that as coldly as his father treated him, he had still gone out of his way to protect his son from a worse fate.

In some ways, that made it worse. That told Rivi that somewhere, buried inside his cold-hearted bastard of a father, there was at least some small spark of love for his son. Or was there? Maybe it was all reputational. After all, a Deputy Minister’s reputation would surely suffer greatly, if it came to light that his impure son was imprisoned for striking an ordained bishop and vice officer. Still, Rivi did not think that wholly the case. He had seen genuine pride in his father’s eyes, at times. Whenever Rivi shared his high marks at school. When he spoke of his promotions at work, or lectures he was called to give. When he was named the Wandering Scholar. And yet, if his father was proud of him then, why couldn’t he be proud of him always?

What did it damn well matter, who he was attracted too? That his own impurity was all it took to cause his father to look down on him was a lifelong wound in Rivi’s heart that would never quite heal. It festered, spreading shame through him like a toxin. Until that shame became his world, and became the armor he used to keep his impure thoughts at bay. So he told himself that he was impure. That he had deserved those punishments. That somehow, they made him better. That if he could just rid himself of his gods-damned impurity, than maybe his father would love-

The only thing they owe you, Spots? Argos’s voice echoed in his head, slicing through his thoughts like a razor. Is acceptance. And if they ain’t offering you that, then fuck ‘em.

“Fuck…” Rivi snatched up his empty water glass, heedless of the fact he was swearing terribly again. His claws came out, scratching at the vessel. He jumped to his feet with a sudden, furious snarl. “Fuck you, Father!” Rivi hurled the glass across the room. It shattered against the far wall, blasting glass shards everywhere. “We deserve acceptance, Rivi!” He threw open the photo album. “We deserve love!” The cheetah tore past the first few pages, until he reached the photograph of his whole family, the day he’d officially been named the Wandering Scholar. “We deserve a better father than you!”

Rivi swung his hand down, claws whistling through the air. The cheetah was fully intent on slicing his father from the photo entirely. But just as his claws reached the photograph’s protective cover, he froze. His fingers hovered, trembling, just over his father’s face. Father was smiling, in that photo. Father was proud of him. It might well be the only proof Rivi even had that his father had ever been proud of him. Had been happy, around him.

Maybe, Rivi thought, he didn’t want to destroy that picture. But then Argos’s words were in his head again, spoken in his own voice. The words Argos made him say. The words Argos so clearly wanted Rivi to believe. Rivi swallowed, his hands shaking above the photo album.

“No one,” Rivi said, little more than a fervent whisper. “Has the right to hurt us.”

His fingers flexed. His claws twitched above the photograph. More memories of pain, of humiliation, of shameful atonement, rippled through his trembling mind. He…He hadn’t really…deserved that, had he?

Rivi spoke again, his voice growing stronger, hotter, a rising fire that suddenly could not be quenched. “No one has the right to hurt us, Rivi!” He grasped the photo album in both hands, snatching it up. “No has the right to hurt us, Rivi!” Rivi’s shoulders shook, a cavalcade of priests, vice officers, and even his father flickering through his mind. His words came out as a snarl, a life of quiet shame suddenly twisting into furious rage. “None of you have the right to hurt me!”

The cheetah hurled his photo album at the cabin door. The book smashed against the door, spraying photographs and newspaper clippings around. Several whole pages exploded out of it. They scattered across the floor as the book hit the carpet and tumbled across the ground. More photos spilled free. Rivi chased after it, with half a mind to kick the whole goddamn thing across the cabin until every last photo was strewn across the floor. But halfway to the door, the headline atop a stack of newspapers caught his eye.

MINISTRY OF JUSTICE ANNOUNCES ARRESTS IN ARCHBISHOP ASSASSINATION!

Rivi whirled towards the stacked papers. With his claws still unsheathed, he sliced through the twine holding them together. He yanked The Rigarda Herald free so quickly it sent the rest of the now unbound stack toppling over. Rivi snarled as papers slid all across the floor. He opened the Herald to the second page so quickly he tore it, then slammed it down against the floor. Another picture of his Father was there, smaller and in black and white. While the primary headline story was about the slaying of Archbishop Tovarakaras, there was smaller secondary article about his replacement.

Newest Minister Vows Reforms; Pledges Loyalty To New ArchBishop!

A million snarky replies bubbled in Rivi’s mind in an instant, only to be overwhelmed by the same torrent of long-repressed anger. Rivi snarled again, a sound that grew louder and louder as he lashed out at the newspaper with his claws. His snarl turned to a roar, a sound his people were physically capable of, yet refused to indulge in. Rivi screamed as he struck the paper again, and again. His claws shredded the image of his father. They tore apart every mention of his title. They ripped away every instance of his name.

Even when that was done, the cheetah did not stop. He struck the paper over and over, relishing the outpouring of rage, the feeling of his claws cutting and tearing, the sheer cathartic release of rage. So often, his people simply bottled up all their negative emotions, swallowed them deep inside where they could not offend or endanger others, let alone themselves. Rivi tore the paper apart until there was nothing left of it but countless shredded strips, like newsprint confetti. Even then, it was all he could do not to turn his aggression towards the carpet beneath the newspaper.

Rivi was so wrapped up in his anger, he did not hear the key turning in the lock. Nor did he hear the door opening. Only when the door clacked shut, did Rivi finally realize he was no longer alone. He jerked his head up, and looked back to see Argos standing just inside the doorway. The coyote stared at all the photographs on the floor, then carefully stepped over them as he entered the room.

“A-Argos!” Rivi jumped to his feet. Only then did he even begin to realize what a terrible mess he’d made. What he’d done to his own photo album. To the cabin. He sucked in a sharp breath, turning towards the far wall, where shards of broken glass glittered in the lamplight. “I…I’m sorry…” A whimper crept up his throat. “I-I’ll clean everything up, I promise.” He wrung his hands, staring down at the ocean of shredded newspaper all around him. “I’m sorry, Argos.”

The coyote stepped over the scattered papers. The moment he reached Rivi, he drew the cheetah into a tight hug. “Rough morning, Spots?”

Rivi whimpered, tears brimming in his eyes. Argos wasn’t even…mad? Why, he wondered, was the coyote so kind to him? He melted into Argos’s embrace, laying his head upon the canine’s chest. Then he wrapped his arms around the coyote, hugging him just as tightly. “Yes, Argos. A very rough morning.”

“Me too.” Argos lifted a hand to stroke the cheetah’s ears. “I almost kicked the shit out of two people just for being assholes.”

“Y-you did?” The cheetah tilted his head back just enough to look up at Argos. “Are you alright?”

“Better, now.” Argos smiled, running his hand over the cheetah’s ears again. “You? You alright?”

“I’m…” Rivi returned to resting his head against Argos’s chest. The steady thump of the coyote’s heart soothed his nerves almost as much as Argos’s gentle touch. “I’m also better, now.”

“Glad to hear it.” Argos gazed around the room, but said nothing. There was no anger in him, no judgement. “Looks like you were having some fun, at least.”

Rivi sighed, pressing himself tighter against the coyote. “Not really the words I’d use.” In that moment, he didn’t even care how tightly they were embracing. How tender Argos’s touch was. How it made him feel. It eased his turmoil, for a while, and that was all that mattered. “I’m afraid I had a childish tantrum. I feel foolish, now. I fear I may have damaged my photo album.”

Argos shook his head. “Don’t worry about, Spots. I’ll help you clean up. And I’ll help you fix up your album, too.”

“Thank you, Argos.” Rivi glanced up again. “I must look a fright, my fur matted, my nightclothes rumpled.”

Argos hooked a finger under Rivi’s muzzle, tilting his head back a little further. “You kinda looked like you were about to kick somebody’s ass. I didn’t hate it.”

“I think I was,” Rivi said, his tail flicking back and forth. “At least, in my own mind.” It occurred to Rivi then, that he owed Argos at least some kind of explanation. “I was thinking about my youth, and…” He swallowed. “My father. And how his opinions of impurity…” A sneer crept into Rivi’s voice. “Differ, from yours.”

The coyote tensed against him. “I gathered that. You don’t gotta say nothing you don’t want to, Spots. Ain’t that hard to put things together.”

Rivi nodded once. “Argos, I’m not supposed to talk about my father, or what he does. Or…” He snorted. “Who he is. But…” But he owed more than that. He owed him more than to stick to some arbitrary rule. For after all, the longer they were together, the more often they held one another, the more likely it was that something deeper might develop. And Argos, after all his kindness, deserved to know who it was he might be getting involved with. “But my father is dangerous, and you deserve to know that.”

Argos rubbed Rivi’s ear in a gentle circle. “You don’t gotta tell me, Spots.”

“I believe that I do.” Rivi reached up, and gently grasped Argos’s wrist, careful not to let their pads touch. “I feel I owe you that much.”

“Spots, I…” Argos sighed, stepping ever so slightly back from Rivi. He held the cheetah’s arms in his hands. “I know who your father is. I figured it out from that photograph.”

Rivi blinked. “Oh…” The cheetah flattened his ears. “A-and you still…” He swallowed. “Cuddled me, last night? Flirted with me? Knowing it could endanger you, if he ever found out?”

Argos growled, his fangs bared. “Spots, he could send the entire goddamn secret police force after me, and I’d still wanna put my arms around you ever goddamn night.”

Rivi laughed, a happier, tension breaking sound. He supposed he should have expected an answer like that from Argos. “I see.” He raised a hand to Argos’s head, gently stroking one of his ears the same way Argos did for him. His fur was velvety soft against his pads, and ever so warm. “I…am starting to think I might feel the same way. Even if I imagine that…” He grimaced, his ears back. “My father’s position complicates things between us, despite your declaration.”

Argos grunted, glancing away. “It does. But, you know what, Spots? I don’t wanna talk about complications, right now. You had a tough morning. I had a tough morning. So, I tell you what.” He jerked his thumb towards the cabin’s door. “You wanna just go shoot some guns for a while?”

Rivi blinked. At first, he thought the coyote was joking. But while Argos smiled at him, there was no laughter, no teasing, no follow-up comments. Slowly, it dawned on Rivi that Argos was offering the cheetah a serious invitation into his own world. Maybe Argos just wanted to share his preferred way to blow off some steam. Or perhaps it was more than that. Maybe he was not-so-secretly offering to court Rivi.

Either way, Rivi found the prospect ever so thrilling.

The cheetah smiled up at Argos. “I’ll get my coat and gloves.”