Chapter 5: Friend

John and I spent the morning outside the main streets, visiting a lot of odd shops, among others a very special book store. Dealing only with old human books, it contained price tags that were of novel length, but still, it was fun just to watch the ancient volumes. They ranged from battered old paperbacks to beautifully leather-bound editions kept behind glass. I spotted a copy of The Songs of Distant Earth, and the memories it brought made me thank myself for the earlier precautions. I got away that time. John\x92s favourite comic book store turned out to be a great place, specialising in hard-to-get back issues, and we spent the rest of the morning looking around in there, not really saving on our money. Luckily, we shared taste, both preferring Asian-style fantasy or adventure books, so we decided to borrow each others\x92 purchases. After a hot dog-lunch, we stopped back at Paradise Street so I could pick up my swimming trunks and drop off my shopping bags, and then we headed for campus. The school building was not as I had imagined it, but was a charming one-floor building thinly spread out on the grounds, all centred on the entrance hall, with a student\x92s reception and a cafeteria. The sports grounds lay a bit behind the main building, and John took the opportunity to show me around. I fell for the school\x92s charm; every corridor was of a different colour, the physics corridor being a bright blue. Behind the building lay a garden, almost a park, with a small pond and lots of flower beds. The sports centre, he told me, was used not only by students, but by various local sports teams, as well. The swimming pool was almost empty, and we had the locker rooms for ourselves. John wasn\x92t kidding; he was a really good swimmer, doing four lengths in the olympic size pool in the same time that I only managed two.
"It\x92s all that fur, Mike," he said. "You must weigh a ton in the water."
"All right, I admit I\x92m not super fast, but I\x92m not exactly drowning."
"Don\x92t grouch, little fox. It doesn\x92t suit you. Actually, you\x92re quite okay."
"Really?"
"Yeah. I\x92ve seen guys you could outswim easily." He grinned. "When I\x92ve held swimming classes with the five-year olds."
Sighing, I pushed him under. We played around in the water for a while, not really noticing as time made a rush. When we got up it was half five. The locker room had a huge full-body blow-drier, and we took turns enjoying the strong, hot gushes of air. John had packed sleeping bags and a picnic basket, so we drove straight down to the lake, where he parked, and we followed a path up among the high cliffs. Suddenly he turned, following some trail I couldn\x92t make out, and we found ourselves standing at the edge of the cliffs, the lake a good hundred metres below us. John beckoned to me as I hesitated, showing me a half-hidden ledge leading down, quite steeply. About halfway down was the camping place he had talked about. It was a good place, no doubt about that. Some small bushes kept us from view, and there was a slight breeze blowing. It was really warm, and my thought that sleeping bags wouldn\x92t do were shamed. Even if it would rain, we were protected by the ledge above us.
"This place is really great," I said, and he nodded, smiling.
"I kind of like it here, it\x92s a good place if you want to be alone."
It got dark really fast, as we sat eating in silence. It was as if we suddenly didn\x92t need to speak, both content with the other\x92s presence. The sun wasn\x92t finished with us, though, and I could tell John enjoyed my surprised gasp. There must have been a gap in the western cliffs, because suddenly a part of the lake lit up, the rest nearly all dark. The evening breeze made waves that sparkled beautifully in the crimson sunlight. I sat watching it for about fifteen minutes, then the magic passed, and it suddenly got really dark.
"It\x92s nice, isn\x92t it? I\x92ve never seen anyone else here, it feels like it\x92s my own, secret place."
"John, that was great! If I were you, I think I\x92d go here every night. At least when it\x92s clear."
"Well, it\x92s quite a ride, but I do try to get here every now and then."
We had been sitting near the edge, and now I felt I wanted to move away, before it got even darker. He laughed, claiming to know his way even with a blindfold, but agreed. We rolled out our sleeping bags, and lay talking for what seemed like hours. The stars came out, and this far from town they were legion. He kept calling me space-freak when I started naming constellations, but it soon turned out he knew them all, as well. From stars, our conversation turned to today\x92s headlines.
"Did you hear about the Morning Star?" he asked. "They\x92ve had to cut back on the crew."
"Yeah, I heard. The way dad\x92s told me, the reason is Nature\x92s Way, meddling with the sponsors. They haven\x92t been too eager to resume contact with the colonies."
"That\x92s right." He suddenly seemed thoughtful. "Your father\x92s with that organisation."
"Yeah. Not that I\x92m too proud of it, though. He just inherited grandpa\x92s seat. I\x92ve tried to persuade him to resign, but he thinks it might be good to have the contacts."
"I take it you don\x92t share their view of life?"
"Who, with half a brain cell, could? You want to know the reason why the project lost support?"
"Sure! Come on, gossip-man, tell me!"
"Officially, it\x92s because they abolished the non-bonded policy, but dad told me the real reason. They want several crew members replaced, and the project leaders have refused."
"No wonder about that!" He laughed. "This close to launch? Where would they get replacements?"
"Obviously, they don\x92t care. There are three mixed-species couples among the crew, as well as two female engineers who won\x92t keep their love secret."
"Ouch. I can see the problem."
"The NW bunch wants them all kicked out, even though one of them is the second commander."
"Can\x92t we talk about something more pleasant?"
"You started this!"
"Yeah, but still..." He grinned. "I don\x92t much care for bigots."
"I hate them! I wish dad would leave, but he won\x92t."
"Why, Mike? Why hate them?"
"They want to control everything. I don\x92t remember much about grandpa, but I know he forced dad to marry a fox. All my girlfriends have been of other species, and if dad should try to make me break with Britanny, I\x92d punch him out."
"Heh. That\x92d be a sight."
"It would, wouldn\x92t it? John, this sleeping bag?"
"It was Britty\x92s. I kept it when she wanted to throw it away. Don\x92t you like it?"
"Yeah, but it still smells of her. If I start talking in my sleep, please don\x92t laugh!"
"Can\x92t promise that."
He yawned, and I felt myself becoming more and more tired. Without a word, we both got up and made ourselves ready to sleep. It was still very warm, so we slept in our briefs. John dozed off almost at once, while I lay awake, surrounded by Britanny\x92s smell. This might make for an embarrassing morning, I thought, a bit worried. No, I was sure he wouldn\x92t laugh at me. He\x92s too much of a nice guy.

He did laugh at me the next morning, but not for the reason I had feared. As it turned out, I invented him other ones during the night. I woke up when someone blew softly into my nose, and I found myself looking right into a pair of gentle, brown cat eyes. Britanny, I thought; still bewitched by the smell around me and the dreams from the night, I leaned forward and kissed her. To my surprise, she started laughing, but it was not the hearty, crystal laughter.
"Mike, are you going to wake up, or do I have to roll you off the ledge?"
Oh shit, I thought. When did John get home? I pushed Britanny away, and sat up, only to bang my elbow against the rock wall. Rock? Britanny\x92s bedroom disappeared, and I sat for a while, blinking in the strong morning sun. Where the hell was I? Slowly, my memory returned. The ledge. We were camping, John and I. So why did I dream so strongly about Britanny? Of course! I remembered the sleeping bag. I had slept, wrapped in her smell. I quickly checked to see that I hadn\x92t embarrassed myself, then I turned to see if John was awake. He was. He was leaning on his elbow, a smug grin on his face.
"Good morning, Mike. Boy, do you sleep heavily!"
"What do you mean? Usually, I wake up at the first sound."
"Not today, though. I\x92ve been trying to wake you for twenty minutes, ever since I woke up with you hugging me."
"Hugging you?"
"How long you\x92ve been snuggled up to me, I\x92ve no idea. Maybe I shouldn\x92t have brought that sleeping bag."
"John, what are you talking about?" I was still feeling drowsy.
"Mike, I woke up when you started fondling me." He laughed. "For a while, I feared for my decency!"
I felt myself blushing. I remembered dreaming about Britanny, but had I really... Then another memory from the dream suddenly sprang to mind.
"John, when I woke up, did I...?"
"Kiss me? Yes, you did."
"Oh, bloody hell!" I hid my face in my hands, blushing even more as I heard him laughing. "I\x92m so sorry, John. Sorry, and thoroughly embarrassed!"
"I didn\x92t know you were such a great kisser..."
"Please, stop it!"
"I\x92m sorry, Mike, I don\x92t really mean to tease you. I blew down your nose to chase away her smell, and then you opened your eyes." He laughed again. "I thought you were awake then, so you took me completely by surprise."
"Well," I said, joining him in laughter. "I\x92ve always been an active sleeper. Mom kept my door locked at night until I was ten, after she found me walking around in the middle of the street, at half past four in the morning, stark naked."
"Oh Mike, stop! I\x92m splitting my sides!"
We used up the last of John\x92s water bottle, a while later, as we brushed our teeth. Getting dressed, it was just after nine when we got back to his car. After stopping by for me to pick up my skates, we went over to his apartment. Leara was out, and he took his time to show me around. Again, I commented on the wonderful decorations, and just like his sister, he beamed with pride. His room was well-kept and tidy, with rock star posters on the walls and a huge bookshelf As he fetched his skates, I looked at the titles. A lot of romance, some classical sci-fi, and a selection of renaissance writers.
"Didn\x92t really think you were the Shakespeare type."
"No? I love his writing." He lifted one out. "I\x92ve got a vivid imagination. I just love picturing the forest moving up on Macbeth\x92s castle. Marvellous!"
"Yeah, he\x92s good. Lots of love stories, too."
"I\x92m a tender-hearted romantic," he sighed. "Love stories with happy endings always get to me."
"Unhappy ones, too. I saw that when we watched Casablanca."
"I don\x92t consider that one unhappy. I think it\x92s one of the most romantic endings ever."
"No, I would have stole the girl and run for the hills."
"You would, Mike. You\x92re an action guy, I know that now."
"Don\x92t be mean, or I\x92ll kiss you again!"

The skating rink was almost deserted this week, too, and John explained that people tended to see skating as a winter activity, preferring outdoor sports or swimming in the summer. I didn\x92t complain, though; it felt great to have the rink to ourselves. With nobody around, John was more willing to practise his skating, and I could take his hands to guide him through some of the moves. He still couldn\x92t skate backwards, though. Lunch-time approached, and we were just starting to consider calling it a day, when it happened. Close to the sideboard, John lost his balance, falling head first towards it, and I reached out instinctively to steady him up. But, I was off balance, and fell crashing into the board. John fell over me, and I heard the awful sound of his head hitting the ice. Neither of us was wearing a helmet. I got up, shaking my head to clear away the pain-flashes, and then I saw him, lying completely still. I froze with fear.
"John?" I crouched down next to him, easing him over. His eyes were closed. "John, are you all right?"
To my great relief, he was stirring, but I still had no real contact. He was bleeding a bit from his forehead, and I saw a bruise forming. Then he coughed, sitting up and clutching his ribs. I held him up, just in case he would get sick.
"How\x92re you feeling?"
"Okay, I guess." He sounded a bit faint. "I landed on your arm, I just lost a little wind, that\x92s all. Don\x92t worry about my thick old head."
"You\x92re bleeding a bit. Can you stand up?"
He got to his feet, surprisingly steady, and we left the ice to sit down in the penalty box. He didn\x92t seem to have a concussion, but he was still a bit short for breath. The blood had begun to smear out on his forehead, catching in his fur.
"Sit still," I said. "I\x92ll clean you up."
"What are you doing?"
"Don\x92t squirm, John. This is nature\x92s perfect solution for treating wounds."
He didn\x92t seem very comfortable as I began to lick his wound, and I can\x92t say I blamed him. It must have stung. Still, his bleeding stopped almost at once, and soon I could hardly tell he had just had blood all over his forehead. He shuddered as I held his head in place, clearing away the last, and I told him not to be such a baby. He calmed down, but I felt tension in him still. I didn\x92t much care for the taste of blood, but with a sister like Tina, I was used to it. She had a liking for hazardous games, and a knack for getting scrapes and cuts. John looked a bit distressed as he met my eyes, but the look immediately changed into horror.
"Mike!" he gasped. "I didn\x92t realise you were hurt!"
"What are you talking about? You\x92re the one who\x92s..."
I stopped talking as he reached to the side of my head, drawing back a hand covered in blood. He left a stinging pain, and now I remembered hitting my head.
"I think I banged into the sideboard," I said. "Must\x92ve opened something."
"Opened! You\x92re bleeding gallons, Mike! Come on, let\x92s get to the locker room."
He led me out, and as we passed the showers I glanced into a mirror. I sniggered at the way I looked, blood covering half my face, staining my T-shirt. John frowned at me, not liking the way I laughed. I called him a bore, and he agreed to it, as he sat me down, hurrying to get a first aid-kit. He returned quickly, and started cleaning me with a wet towel. Right then I couldn\x92t understand the fuss he made. After all, he was the one who smacked into the ice! I wanted to check his wound, but it had stopped bleeding.
"That\x92s fine," I said, not really caring if he listened. "Listen, John, no more sports for a while, okay? How about an early start on that slacking weekend?"
"Fine, Mike, just sit still now."
"Ouch! Hey, that hurt!"
"Good. That means you\x92re getting out of your shock."
"I\x92m not shocked. Quit fussing!"
"It doesn\x92t look too deep, Mike, just a cut, really. But you might have a concussion."
"I thought you had one."
"I don\x92t. My head\x92s perfectly clear."
"So was mine until you started fussing about."
"Stay here, there\x92s usually a physician here on Fridays, I\x92ll see if I can get him."
He left, and I thought of what I had said. It was true that my head had been clear as I helped John, but suddenly I felt like I was full of cotton wool. Every thought seemed blurred, distorted, somehow. I got up to look in the mirror again, and found I was still bleeding. I brought John\x92s towel, and tried to wipe off the blood as it came. I held my head fur apart with my fingers, but it was hard to see anything, and it hurt to do it. There was a throbbing pain, and I didn\x92t feel very well. Maybe John was right, and I had a concussion. I sat down again, leaning heavily against the row of lockers, not really caring that I got blood all over them. Trying to focus my eyes, I found that they worked. That was a good sign, and I smiled to myself. John soon returned with a large otter, who sat down next to me.
"Hello, Mike, how are you feeling?" He touched my head, and I winced with pain. "John told me you had a little accident."
"I don\x92t think it\x92s too serious," I said, "but it hurts."
"I\x92d say. This is quite a cut. My name\x92s Cann, by the way, physician for the hockey club\x92s youth team. I work here part time when the hall\x92s open to public. To take care of guys like you two, dorks who skate without helmets. Hmm, this looks like it\x92ll need a stitch or two."
"I want anaesthetics."
"Won\x92t do you any good on such a superficial wound, Mike. Just relax. John, hold him still, will you, try to calm him down."
"I am calm," I protested. "Just do it!"
"Tough guy, eh? I won\x92t lie to you, this will hurt."
He wasn\x92t lying. Every time he pierced my flesh with his needle I cried out, hurting worse than ever. John kept holding my head, whispering soothing words I didn\x92t really hear. An eternity later, the pain stopped. John held me for a little while longer, but then I sat up again.
"What the hell did you do? Cover my entire head with stitches?"
"Just four, Mike. Just four. How do you feel?"
"Better, now that you\x92re half a metre away."
"Heh. Okay, let\x92s take a look at you, then." He turned to John. "Hit the ice, eh?"
"Yeah."
"Well, this looks okay. No need for needles. It\x92ll make a good bruise, though. Did he lick it clean?"
"Yes, he did."
"A good job. This\x92ll heal nicely. Your buddy should be okay, as well, but he could get a tiny bit of a scar. Mike, are you listening?" I nodded. "Take an aspirin when you get home, and call your doctor if you start feeling ill. I don\x92t think you\x92ve got a concussion, but you can\x92t be sure. The stitches will go away in a few days, but take it easy for a while, okay?"
"I promise. Right now, easy sounds quite tough."
"Your parents should check in on you a few times during the night, to make sure you don\x92t get sicker. You sleep on your back?"
"No, on my side."
"Good. You\x92ll be fine, I\x92m sure. Go home now, and lie down for a while."
"Wait, Cann," John said. "He\x92s home alone this weekend."
"Oh. That\x92s worse. Think you could sleep over at his place, John? Or let him stay at your place?"
"Yeah, that\x92s no problem, I guess."
"You\x92re so good to me, John."
"Remember, now. If you feel ill, call a doctor. And clean the cut before you go to bed, preferably with some medical alcohol."
"I will," I said, nodding, then wincing at the movement. "Thanks for your help."

We stopped for some take-out sushi, before we went back to Paradise Street. John called his mother, telling her what had happened, and that he would spend the night here. She sent a get-well-soon greeting, which he relayed to me. After eating, I took a headache-pill, and we laid down on the couch, head to tail, for a snooze. I don\x92t remember falling asleep, but suddenly the clock showed half past six. I had slept for more than five hours. Without waking John I got up, stretching my muscles. My back felt a bit sore after the skating, and I made a mental note to hold John to his promise, and demand another back rub. The bathroom mirror showed me a head I hardly recognised as my own. There was dried blood in places, and the stitches had leaked a clear fluid that had dried in patches. Using some hot water on a towel, I tried to wash it off, but it was still too painful. A voice within told me that the pain was good; it\x92s when you don\x92t feel anything you should start to worry. I remembered mom\x92s words about not thinking about others, and sighed as I realised I broke that promise after just a day. But I had lost all concerns for myself as I saw John lying there, possibly hurt, and I hadn\x92t even felt my own wound until he reminded me of it. I\x92ll never be good at not thinking about others, I thought, smiling. As I stood there, watching to my dismay how the stitches showed through the fur at my temple, John came in behind me. As he spoke, I jumped a bit. How come I always get startled in this new house?
"Yes, you lost your looks, for sure. Modern day Frankenstein\x92s Monster."
I turned around, arms out-stretched, and walked towards him in a stiff-legged way. He laughed as I began to moan, chasing him around the house. I soon got tired, though, and we sat down on the couch.
"Is there a windmill around here?" I asked, and he laughed again. "Lay that pitchfork down, peasant!"
"Mike, you are too silly! You ought to be put down."
"You try! Ooh..." I hid my face in my hands.
"What is it? Does it hurt?" He sounded really concerned.
"No, it\x92s not that. I just thought about my poor luck. There I was, looking forward to a few days of fun with Britanny, and then I get stuck with stitches and you!"
"But Mike, don\x92t you love me anymore? Why, just this morning you said..."
"Talked in my sleep again?" He nodded. "I need to do something about that."
"You said \x91I love you so much\x92, just before you grabbed my..."
"Yes, yes, yes, embarrass me further, why don\x92t you?"
"All right," he said, and whispered in my ear. "How\x92s that?"
"You. Are. Cruel! I deny everything!"
"Well, it is true. You\x92re probably lucky I woke you up."
Groaning, I laid back, hiding my head under a pillow. He laughed, patting my hand. I could feel him getting up and moving about, and then he lifted a corner of the pillow, speaking softly.
"That\x92s right, Mike. Cann said you needed rest. You just take it easy, and I\x92ll go see if I can fix us something to eat. My brain says I just ate sushi, but my stomach knows the clock\x92s been ticking."
"I\x92ll help you."
"No, you lie back. Relax. I\x92m a good cook. Let me handle this."
"You sure?"
"Yes, damn it! Why can\x92t you take it when people are nice to you?"
"C\x92mon, that\x92s not it!" I protested. "I just hate not doing things."
"Well, you keep yourself busy not doing things, while I cook. I think you should sleep some more."
Grunting a reply, I reached for the remote as he left the living room. All the channels seemed empty at the moment, but I found some cartoons to sleep to. When I woke up, there was an odd smell to the house. My head was feeling a bit heavy, so it took me a few seconds to remember that John was cooking. What\x92s he doing? Try as I might, I couldn\x92t make it out by smell alone. There was definitely lemon, and curry, but what else? I felt hot, and my shirt was a bit sweaty, so I went upstairs to change it. Following the smell back down the stairs, I entered the kitchen a minute later. He was sitting by the table, reading some old papers, not really watching a large pot on the stove.
"Oh look," he said lifting his eyes from yesterday\x92s news, "Sleeping Beauty is back in business. I actually thought you\x92d waste the entire evening away."
"What time is it?"
"Oh, just a quarter to eight. You haven\x92t slept much more than an hour. How are you feeling?"
"Rested, but I think I might have a fever. After dinner, I\x92ll take another aspirin. What are you making?"
"Like the smell, Mike?"
"Yeah. What is it?"
"A little something I invented just now. I like spontaneity when I cook. It\x92s chicken, with garlic and basil. Some lemon and curry, and mushrooms. There was some fresh pasta just about to reach its sell-by date, so I\x92ll be putting that in shortly."
"Sounds good, John. I\x92m getting hungry just smelling it. Dry white wine with that, or?"
"If you\x92re having any alcohol tonight, it\x92ll be medical, and on your wound. No, I\x92ve been out shopping while you slept. Drinks will be a speciality of mine."
"I shudder."
"Don\x92t. These are really good. It\x92s in the fridge, cooling."
I sat down next to him, and we got to work on a crossword, waiting for the timer to go off. He was good at crosswords, at least as good as me, and it didn\x92t take us long to finish it. At the ring, he got up to put in the pasta, not bothering to sit down again.
"It\x92s only cooking for a minute," he said, as I set the table for us. "Bring out the jug too, will you?"
The jug had an odd smell to it, which I couldn\x92t identify at all. It was milky white and sparkling, and I have to say it didn\x92t look too inviting. Finally happy with the seasoning, he brought the pot over, and served me a generous helping. I poured the drinks while he helped himself, and sat down. Tossing all expectations aside, I popped a piece of chicken into my mouth, trying out its flavour. It turned out to be delicious. The seasoning was so perfectly balanced that I could taste every ingredient, all adding up and none overshadowing the others. A bit spicy, but not too much. I let my closed eyes and smacking lips talk, and went on to try the drink. We toasted, and I waited to see his contented smack and sigh before I tried it myself. It was like nothing I\x92d ever tasted before. Sweet, but still a bit sour from being aerated, and with a clear taste of... vanilla? The mixture of flavours made it a treat like nothing! I told him so, and he laughed.
"You liked it, eh?" I nodded. "I knew you would."
"John, what\x92s in this? It\x92s terrific!"
"It\x92s based on carbonated mineral water. Then I add some sweetened whipped cream, a few drops of lemon juice, and some pure vanilla. Just a touch of it, really. Stir, cool and serve. Not a health drink, but it\x92s good."
"Damn right! I\x92ll beat the entire recipe out of you yet. The stew\x92s great, too. Maybe I\x92ll let you adopt me after all."
"Heh. I could tell you liked it, Mike. You were purring like a kitty."
"It\x92s better than your lasagne, but not by far."
"So, you tried some of that?"
"Yeah. We ate it for breakfast, Tina and I."
"Breakfast? You really are crazy!"
"Don\x92t bark at me! It was Tina\x92s idea!"
"So, now you blame your defenceless little sister? Mike, you disappoint me! Greatly!"
"You\x92re so mean, John, putting down on me when I\x92m hurt!" I touched my stitches, wincing a lot more than necessary. "I took the blow for you, remember?"
"Oh Mike, I didn\x92t mean... I was just teasing you! I\x92m so sorry!" He seemed genuinely distressed, so I dropped my act, grinning.
"Relax, lion, this time, I\x92m teasing. Actually, the pain is more or less gone."
"No, I really mean it, Mike! I should have thought of it before! If you hadn\x92t saved me... I could have broke my neck!"
"It\x92s okay, calm down. Damn it, John, you look all shook up!"
"I haven\x92t even thanked you..."
"Thank me later, eat now!"
While we finished the meal, we talked about the following two days, setting our minds to a peaceful, domestic life.
"I need to get home to pick up a change of clothes," he said. "Can I shower here?"
"Of course. Tell you what, why don\x92t you borrow some of my clothes? I\x92m sure I\x92ve got something that\x92s too large for me."
"Mhm. That\x92d save time. Should we rent some films?"
"If you think so. We\x92ve got a lot of films even I haven\x92t seen yet."
"Okay," he nodded. "Let\x92s look through your collection first, then decide."
"Sounds good."
When I finally pushed the plate away, I thought I would burst. John also looked completely full, but we still managed to finish off the jug. We helped each other load the dish-washer, then we sat down on the couch, both too sated to start searching for videos. It didn\x92t take us long to fall asleep, and neither of us stirred until it was bright outside.

Saturday showed a moderately blue sky, with some really black clouds on the horizon. Only just awake, I lay still for a long time, my head really hurting. No matter how much I longed for an aspirin, I just couldn\x92t muster enough willpower to get one. I didn\x92t really remember how we had fallen asleep, but now John was lying behind me, crushed between my back and the back of the couch. He had his free arm wrapped around my stomach. Thinking of his bruised head, I felt quite certain he would have a headache, too, so I lay still, waiting for him to wake up, misery really feeling like some company. It wasn\x92t long until he started to stir. By then, I had begun to drift back to sleep, so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I didn\x92t notice until he started to curse, swiftly pulling back his arm. I smiled to myself. Should I pay him back for yesterday? No, I decided to leave it, and pretended to be asleep. Actually, it was kind of fun to hear and feel him move around, as he tried his best not to wake me up. Once he was out of the couch, he made a run for the bathroom, and I decided to get up, too. I was just checking the fridge for something to make breakfast out of, when he came in, hand to his temple.
"Mike, do you have any aspirin? I looked in the bathroom..."
"Sure. The cupboard left of the stove. Give me one too, will you?"
I decided to stay with tea and toast for breakfast, and John joined me for a cup of tea, claiming he wasn\x92t hungry. It didn\x92t take long for the pills to work, and soon that dull, aching pain took its leave. Both grinning at the other\x92s harried looks, we quickly cleared away the kitchen, heading into our home for the next two days; the living room. Spirits and interest rising, we started checking out the video shelves, even opening some boxes with half-discarded tapes. We ended up with two films each. In my case Shangri-La and Jurassic Park, while he picked out The Shop Around the Corner and Lawrence of Arabia.
"Can I use the phone again?" he asked. "I promised to call mom to let her know everything was all right."
"You do that. I\x92ll go and make us some white fluffies."
I sat down to watch the popcorn machine work, the relentless popping noise nearly putting me to sleep. I had to ask John to repeat himself when he spoke.
"I said, mom wants us to come on over for lunch. You want that?"
"Sure. It\x92ll be fine. Just let me get dressed."
"Not now, silly! Besides, you are dressed. You shouldn\x92t watch that thing, it\x92s not good for you. End up in a coma any day."
"That\x92d be nice. To finally get some sleep."
"You slept quite a lot yesterday, you lazy little fox. C\x92mon now, butter up, it\x92s movie time!"
John hadn\x92t seen Jurassic Park, so we started with that one. It has this great opening, just three beats of music to go with the opening credits, then straight into the action. Turned out there was a reason for him not having seen it; my lion buddy didn\x92t care much for horror films. As he crept up to me, grabbing my arm just like Tina use to do, I couldn\x92t help wondering if I\x92d have him invading my bed that night. He did look a bit shaken when the film was rewinding, but I let the opportunity for teasing pass. Maybe mom\x92s right, and I\x92m too nice. Next, we went to black-and-white romance; a while of harmless entertainment. Actually, the movie was quite fun. The popcorn bowl, until then almost untouched, now emptied itself quickly, with our help. After this one, it was almost time to get over to John\x92s place, and we both went for showers, him borrowing Tina\x92s bathroom. I was done first, so I picked out some clothes I believed were large enough for him. He wasn\x92t much taller, but a bit broader, sturdier. More muscular. The ones I selected, a pair of clean briefs, cotton trousers, socks and a red Go Kansas T-shirt, turned out to fit well, and soon we were on our way.

Leara met us at the door, smiling. The smile, however, turned to a frown when she saw the stitches at my temple. I hurried to tell her I was okay, but I could see that she did not quite believe me. But when John said he would spend the following night, too, with me, she nodded, relaxing.
"Just so long as your not all by yourself, Mike dear. Come on in, sit down. Lunch is ready in a few minutes."
Lunch was a delicious pork stew, and I made sure to tell Leara how much I loved it. She beamed with delight, and said I was more polite than any of her kids had ever been. We talked all the time during the meal, something that made me feel very welcome. She was kind to John and Britanny, only telling me the least embarrassing of their childhood stories. Afterwards, John packed a few things, and we went back to Paradise Street. The couch was beckoning again.

Two movies later, it was half past five. Neither of us was very hungry, or tired, or in the mood for more movies. While Shangri-La rewound, we sat staring at the ceiling. I was wondering what to do, and was just going to share my great idea, when he beat me to it.
"Mike, why don\x92t we go out to the shopping centre? Pick up that spare bed you keep asking for. They don\x92t close \x91til seven."
"I was just going to say the same thing. We could pick up some Italian on the way home."
"Maybe rent a movie or two. You\x92re collection\x92s great, but I\x92m getting bored with old films."
"I\x92ll just go and clean off the stitches." I got up, but he pushed me back down again.
"Just sit back. I\x92ll do it for you."
"But I can manage..."
"Sit still! Won\x92t you ever let me help? It\x92s hard to do this in front of a mirror."
"Okay. Keep your hat on. I just don\x92t want to be a bother."
"You\x92re not, Mike. Now stay there!"
I didn\x92t stay. While he went to pick up some medical alcohol and cotton wool, I cleared away the empty cola bottles and the popcorn bowl, wiping the table clean. When John caught me straightening the pillows, he grabbed my arm, wringing it up on my back. Turning my head, I caught his grin as I squealed with surprise and pain. Sternly, he pushed me down onto the couch, then sat on top of me.
"Do you ever listen to others? Ever?"
"No. John, you\x92re crushing me! What do you weigh?"
"You are staying down this time, stubborn little fox!"
"Ouch! I\x92m staying, I\x92m staying!"
"No, you\x92re not! You spring back like a feather every time I let you go. I\x92m beginning to think I might have to spank you, Mike."
"What?"
"You heard. I\x92ve half a mind pull off your breeches and spank you blue."
"Didn\x92t know you had that kink."
"Neither did I!" He laughed. "But you seem to bring out the worst in me."
"I guess I have been naughty," I said, rolling over with an effort to lie on my stomach. "Oh John, please be gentle with me. I bruise so easily."
"I give up!" He slapped my rump a couple of times, smiling at my exaggerated screams of pain. "Quiet down, Mike, you\x92ll wake the neighbours."
"I\x92ve hardly even met my neighbours. Between work and lions I\x92m hardly ever home."
"Are you saying I\x92m stealing your quality time?" He slapped me again.
"Yes, you are! Dragging me around to all sorts of boring places."
"You\x92re lucky I\x92m not easily offended, foxy," he said, leaning down so close he could have bit my ear off. "Otherwise, I might have had to hurt you."
Slapping me one last time, he let me go, and I sat up. Letting my ears and whiskers droop, I rubbed my behind, putting a lot of pain into my voice.
"You horrible man! Beating up on a sick kid. Whatever movie we rent, I\x92m going to have to watch it standing up."
"If it\x92s that bad, then you must really bruise easily. Now sit still while I wash your face."
The cut must have started to heal, because this time didn\x92t nearly hurt as much as before. Satisfied, he nodded and put the bottle away. I followed him into the bathroom, and washed my face with water. That got rid of the worst smell, but I went on complaining that I stank like a still. A couple of minutes later, we were in the Volvo, heading for the shopping centre. The light drizzle we set out in turned into a heavy rain during the few minutes it took to get there, and we had to make a dash for the entrance.
"Damn!" he cried, wiping his face fur. "I\x92m soaked!"
I couldn\x92t help laughing at his expression; he looked like a scolded puppy. He glanced at me surly as I wringed water out of my hair, splashing all over the floor.
"Think we should go home to change? I thought you said you loved water."
"Not cold, bloody rain! I\x92m not going back out into that!" he pointed out the door. "Let\x92s get shopping, Mike."
"Okay." I brought out my wallet, waving it high and yelling. "Say hello to Mr Credit Card, a good, good friend of mine!"
"Ssch! Are you insane?" His voice was suddenly a whisper. "I work here! Everybody knows me!"
"So? They don\x92t know me."
"You really have a concussion!" He shook his head, snorting. "Either that or you\x92ve always been this crazy, and I just didn\x92t notice. You have a credit card?"
"Yup. Dad gave it to me, to use in an emergency."
"You\x92re calling a spare bed an emergency?"
"Well, it is, we can\x92t sleep on the couch one more night, it\x92ll get soiled. Besides, whatever I buy on this is just a loan. I\x92ll pay him back when my paycheque comes."
"If you say so. Speaking of emergencies, I desperately need a hotter stereo, or I won\x92t survive."
"Sell your car, lion. Or get a night shift."

An hour later, closing time was swiftly approaching. We had made another shower-rush to the car, loading my new bed, a comfy-looking foldaway, into John\x92s large trunk, and now we were waiting for our take-out at the Ristorante. The chef grinned widely as he handed us three hot boxes of food.
"Here you go, John. See you Monday!"
"Yeah, you too," he smiled, waving.
"He seems like a nice guy," I said, as we were getting ready to shower once more. "How long have you been working here?"
"This is the third summer. I like it, serving is fine, cooking even better. And the pay\x92s good. If I don\x92t get a scholarship for the university, I\x92ll still have a job."
"You don\x92t think you\x92ll make it?"
"I probably will. I\x92ve got quite good grades, but you never know."
"I never thought much about that. Grandpa left me with a fund for my education, so I\x92ve never bothered to apply for scholarships."
"I thought you didn\x92t like your grandpa."
"I didn\x92t. That doesn\x92t mean I should let the fund go to waste."
"A pragmatic little fox. I like that."
"Tch! First I\x92m so helpful I get spanked, then I\x92m a pragmatic? Make up your mind!"
"Keep your bloody voice down, Mike! Have you set your mind to embarrass me?"
"Yes. Should we go?" I asked, looking out at the downpour. "This isn\x92t letting up."
"Might as well."

An hour later, we had dried off, eaten and set up the bed. It went quite well with the walls in the back room, but we decided to put it in the main room for the time being. The small den didn\x92t have a radiator, and John felt sure he\x92d freeze in there. We were both wearing bathrobes, since we had been soaked down to the fur. Our clothes hung in the downstairs bathroom, but we held little hope they would ever get dry. Settling down for another double-movie marathon, the popcorn bowl replaced with some candy we had bought at the video store, we had ourselves a debate regarding the choice of films.
"Listen, John, we agreed to pick one film each. If you didn\x92t like my choice, then why didn\x92t you speak up at the store?"
"I did! You just refused to listen! I don\x92t know if I can watch that one. It\x92s supposed to be really scary."
"How scary can a film called The Temple of Cats be? Tina has wanted to see this one for weeks, I just thought I\x92d watch it before her."
"Some of my classmates saw it at the theatre. They\x92re braver than me, and it scared them sleepless!"
"How about we start with it, then finish with yours? To calm down?"
"Oh, all right! Just promise me you won\x92t laugh at me when I grab your arm, Mike. Promise me!"
"Yeah, I promise. Stuff your snout with wine gum and relax, it\x92s just a movie."
"That\x92s easy to say for someone who\x92s brave. I\x92ve never liked horror films, but I saw you laughing at Jurassic Park."
"I\x92ve seen it before, John. I did jump a few times the first time, too."
"Just start the damn thing. Let\x92s get it over with."
The movie turned out to be a real thriller. If I\x92m to be honest, I didn\x92t mind at all when John, just twenty minutes into the film, snuggled up to me and made me hold him. It was one of the scariest movies I\x92ve ever seen, and I made myself a mental note not to rent it to Tina. Two hours later, I started rewinding it, glad to see the TV screen showing some commercials. John pushed me away, leaning back with a sour look on his face.
"That\x92s the last time I let you rent scary movies, Mike. I swear this now, I\x92ll never, ever go to Egypt! Never!"
"Yeah, it was a bit too scary, even for my taste. That scene in the burial room, I\x92ll never forget it!"
"Yuck! Don\x92t mention that one. If that had been me, I would have died. Honest! Just keeled over and died."
"Wasn\x92t gory, though," I added, winking. "Very un-violent for a horror movie."
"So you say. It went brutal on my poor nerves. I\x92m glad there isn\x92t a radiator in your back room."
"My den."
"What?"
"I call it my den."
"Whatever. If there had been, I would have had to invent some other excuse for not sleeping alone tonight. I will have nightmares, Mike."
"I doubt it. It was just a movie. Let\x92s go Shakespeare now, okay? We\x92ve still got all the candy left."
"Except for that wine gum you force-fed me."
"Heh. C\x92mon, Macbeth time!"
John had picked the latest version of the classic, set in a fictive medieval genimen world, with a furry Duncan battling a really well-played Macbeth. Like John had said, the marching forest was quite a sight. Rewinding that one, at almost half two in the morning, we were both yawning widely. I brought out bedclothes for John, and we moved the bed again, this time placing it right next to mine. I had been wrong; Macbeth didn\x92t cool our nerves. Going to bed at once, we said good night and reluctantly turned out the lights. I heard John drift off to sleep, and for a moment I felt like raising hell, but decided against it. Shaking my head, I came to the conclusion that mom was perfectly right. I\x92m just too nice. I woke up in the middle of the night, feeling John moving closer, and I shifted, too, to make us lie right next to each other. In some way, it felt good; safe and warm, and this time without any confusing smells to cause embarrassment. Oddly enough, that night I didn\x92t dream at all.