story - weird part of the night
(Get a bit too high, run into a big hot dude, what could go wrong? Contains: weed use, furry, fat romance)
I come to with the streaming app’s ’are you still watching’ message burned into the dim light of the tv screen. I must have passed out, or at the very least, had a large gap in my active perception…the last thing I really remembered was the too big bong hit from the too big bong in their backyard, a muttering of ‘oh fuck, I might be a little too high’ and then vague lights and colors and commotion after that, commotion that has since withered into monochrome, lonely darkness.
Even now, I’m still tingly, my limbs numb and over sensitive, head foggy and rippling in echoes, but at least me. Gradually, the fog of war over the other details in my surroundings fill in — the overly soft couch facing the TV, partially broken on one corner; coffee table loosely scattered with smoking accessories and several empty cans; dusty curtains, the street lamp halogen glow tracing through into the room in dull streaks.
There’s a faint breathing that I recognize as my friend Kay curled up onto the lounge chair perpendicular to me. Another acquaintance, a friend of a friend who’s name I couldn’t commit to memory before the gap, is laying supine across the rest of the couch, their head beside my arm, nose almost imperceptibly whistling with the slow, steady breaths of sleep.
Dee and James must have already taken off for the night, or at least I didn’t see them…Glancing around the room, I look to the entry and see Dee’s big backpack is missing from the catch-all near the front door. Just then, from the entryway mirror, I notice a new light source glowing into existence, a dull, bluish flicker emanating from the kitchen beyond the archway of the living room, accompanied by a faint clattering.
Curious, I gently rise off the couch, careful not to disturb my furniture-mate, and bend over to grab a few cans to take to the trash. ’Shh,’ I say to myself, trying not to let the cold metal of the cans ping into each other. As my senses catch up, the tingling returns again, accompanied by a gentle spin of the room, like my body was unaccustomed to standing at attention after an indeterminate amount of time spent couch-locked.
‘Fuuuck…’ I whisper to no one, involuntarily. This is why I don’t do bongs, I remember with futility. Getting my sea legs and making my way to the kitchen, I realize the faint light is from the fridge, though the radiance is more obscured than normal.
“Oh…Hey.” The obstruction says in a low, but gentle tone, somewhere between bemusement and routine.
My eyes are still adjusting to the contrast, harsh beams colliding with a large mass planted in front of the fridge, the vignette of my vision wiggling with a phosphene-like glint. Gradually, I try and focus on some fuzzy mass…the large creature…a boar, their dark eyes barely twinkling as they glare back in shared recognition.
I can only make out their shape with the light that outlines the front of them, a large, round body stuffed into a shirt that somehow comes off as oversized and far too small — the neck is waffled and wide, large sleeve holes hanging off his thick arms, and yet…his fuzzy gut hangs out the bottom of it, pulled taut enough across his expanse to give shape to his soft chest sitting atop the mass of belly. From the light, I can’t make out that many details, but I can tell he’s massive.
“His roommate, yeah.” He turns back to the fridge. “I don’t think we’ve really met. I’ll get out of your hair in a sec.” He fishes a pizza box out. “Thought you were asleep.”
“I…I dunno. I…uh, think I was.” I blink my eyes reflexively, trying to clear the dryness.
“You did a hit from his…” He gestures his big arms out. I can see his shirt lift up even further, but only barely see the outline of his belly button from the dim light.
“…Big stupid bong, yeah.” I bite my lip impulsively.
“You know he does it on purpose, yeah? He told me it’s funny as fuck when you get really high.” He smirks and chuckles slightly to himself, then places the pizza box on the counter. He looks back at me, the sparkle furrowing into a slight concern. “Sorry. You okay?” My face must have betrayed my disposition, though his concern feels like a radiating warmth against my chest.
“Yeah, I…” I give a nervous laugh that probably conveys more nervous than laugh, “I just got too high, is all.”
He’s already making his way to the corner of the kitchen, shimmying slightly sideways past the cabinets, and places his meaty hand against a light switch, turning on a solitary light in the corner, giving back the glow that was lost with the fridge, warmer this time. “Sorry, don’t wanna wake the rest of them.”
I can finally make out his details a little better now: scruffy, dull brown fur covers his mass, almost making a good match with his ultra faded black t-shirt, the graphic screen-printed on the front cracked and faded. A pair of grey sweatpants cover his lower half, and I can’t help but get the impression that they’re form-fitted against him more than the silhouette of the garment would imply. An uncharitable read would call his general impression ‘sloppy’, but there’s a certain comfort to all the soft textures and unsaturated colors that fill in his large expanse.
And it is large. He more than fills the walking path between the counter against the wall and the small island, his massive ass occupying nearly all the space behind him, forcing him to perform a sort of shimmy at an angle to navigate most of the kitchen, and it looks practiced - my mind wanders for a moment wondering about the gentle beast who has learned to navigate a world not made for him.
He waddles back over to me and puts a thick hand against my shoulder for a moment. It radiates white hot heat. “There, that better? I’m sure you’re through the worst of it.”
With his burning hand on me, it feels true, just before he lifts his arm, a moment that didn’t quite last long enough.
He’s still staring, noticing that hint of disappointment, but unsure as to why. Quickly, he tries to move on to distracting me. “Sorry, I’m Luca. It’s good to meet you. Want anything to drink?” He smiles warmly, tusks accenting the curled lips.
“Y-yeah, sure And good to meet you. I’m-uh…” I stammer.
“Nev, I remember.” He realizes how that might come off as ominous in my current state, so he continues, opening the fridge back up. “Uh, Kay talks about you. You always seemed…cool.”
He bends over, the expanse of his ass occupying the entire narrow walkway, gently pressing against the counter as he rummages for a drink. His gut spills downward, smothering the front of his thighs as he grunts from the effort of bending over, breath now audible from the exertion.
“You two talk much? Kay always said you’re pretty reclusive. Thought you were kinda…I dunno, doing your own thing…” I trail off, worried I might have over-spoken.
“Oh, that’s true. He moves something in the fridge. “I work from home mostly. Weird hours, but it pays well enough.” Craning his neck, he bends forward, as if to look behind something. “Mostly I’m just…” He glares into the other room for a moment. “Lots of people aren’t really my thing.” He seems to put something down. “Though sometimes we talk…late at night, just the two of us….” He hefts himself up with a grunt. “…kinda like this, actually.”
“Nothing?” I reply, the mouth-dryness coming into focus at my words.
“Sorry, I think we’re out.” He looks a little disappointed, before returning to the pizza box.
“You sure you wouldn’t want to hang out with us? I’m sure Dee and J wouldn’t mind extra company.” I say, almost a reaction.
He hesitates for a moment. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to get in the way or anything.” He grabs a slice of pizza. “I’m usually working on the weekends. Besides, Kay is the social butterfly, not me.” He reasons, taking an especially big bite. “I get off work pretty late, and he lets me have the rest of the pizza. You guys always leave a ton.” Making a small gesture with the slice, he folds it and takes another bite.
“It must get a little…” I catch myself. “Sorry, Never mind.”
“…Oh, you don’t have to worry about me, really. I’m pretty content by myself anyway.” It might be the state I’m still recovering from, but every word of that sentence sounds like performance, a well-rehearsed speech delivered as obligation.
“Well…I may be just stupid and high…well, I am stupid and high. But it is nice talking with you.”
He smiles a little too much, a goofy grin appearing for a second before he catches himself, “That’s nice of you, but I just don’t wanna take up too much of your time or attention. I hope I didn’t wake you or anything. Just got off work myself.” He grabs the last slice of pizza, closing the empty box.
A seed of an idea forms in my mind, but subterfuge comes slowly to my foggy brain. “Hey uh…do you think you could take me to get a soda or something somewhere? I think…something with some caffeine and sugar would be helpful.” I make a very obvious shrug gesture, and over-explain a little. “I’d drive myself, but I think…I think I’m still a little too high for that.”
The question catches him so off-guard that he doesn’t notice my moderately stilted delivery. “Oh! Uh…” He considers for a few moments, the social calculus interacting with the surprise of the request and the guilt of not having something to give me before. “Uh, yeah….yeah! I can do that. Let me just get my keys.”
The street lights streak across the dried rain droplets of his windshield, feeling like a fractal pattern, flickering in obfuscated rhythms. My eyes blur and struggle to focus, content to watch the dance of lights. I’m still pretty high. The reminder hits me like a small, icy needle sliding into my neck. I kill the relative silence immediately. “It’s so quiet at night.”
The whir of the small engine, the dull murmuring of the radio, and the humming whoosh of air conditioner aside, he nods at my intended meaning. I swear I can feel the jostling of his springs at his gesture. “Yeah. I like it though. It always feels so peaceful, like…like everything’s where it’s supposed to be, I guess.”
I glance at him, and I can’t help but notice how much of him occupies my vision, the way he crowds his side of his cabin and then some, heavy arms filling the center space and arm wrest, belly filling his lap and space between him and the wheel, pudgy fingers gripping the wheel that looks dainty against his form, head sagging into neck fat squishing and jostling from the car’s motion.
He takes the silence as a response. “Or I dunno. Heh.” He adds a small snicker to diffuse the awkwardness.
I catch myself and form a response. “No, yeah, I think I know what you mean. Everything’s asleep or just buzzing along, uninterrupted.”
“You uh, much of a night person?” Squinting at the road, he turns on the blinker.
“Me? No, honestly. If it gets too late at night, uh. I dunno…I don’t always like being alone with my thoughts.” I wince slightly at my impulsive oversharing.
He nods slightly to himself. “Yeah, I get that…”
The radio still isn’t loud enough to diffuse the relative silence.
I feel the car lurch into a lower speed, before the force of a turn leans my body to the left, and that familiar, radiating warmth brushes against my arm slightly, his hair at once soft and slightly bristly. In a polite reaction, I make my body rigid and sit back up straight. He stutters slightly before stammering “here it is.”
We pull into the drive-thru, and the menu board feels overly bright to my streetlight-attuned eyes. I squint and look it over performatively, as if I wasn’t going to order a oh-pepsi-is-fine anyway.
“Can I get three double cheeseburgers, twenty chicken nuggets with honey mustard, and a large Dr. Pepper? And uh…” As if recalling a speech that he forgot the next line to, he turns toward me, stifling a blush with his big cheeks. “Sorry, did you know what you wanted?”
“Give me a large coke…” a beat, “a-and…and two apple pies. Thanks,” I add, reflexively.
We start pulling around the curve. I start rummaging through my pockets for my wallet. “Let me get this…”
“Oh, no! Please, I don’t want you to get all that, I just wanted to get food while I was out anyway. It’s nothing…really.” He rummages out a small wallet from his sweatpants.
Before I can protest, he’s already paying the cashier at the window.
“Have a good night,” I hear from the drive-thru window as two large bags enter our car.
“Can you…uh…” He stumbles.
“Sure,” I say, taking the bags from him.
“Let me just…” He pulls around to a nearby parking lot before putting his car into park. “Hope you don’t mind if I eat real quick.”
“Not at all.” I tentatively take a sip of my drink. The cool, sugary liquid feels like it has cured me of every ailment for a moment.
“Thanks.” He turns the engine off, then digs into the bag and unwraps the first of his burgers, a practiced motion that leaves enough of an opening for his large bites without being too much of a mess. Without the hum of the AC, the relative body heat starts warming up the car, just slightly. The heat of the hot food from the bag feels extra steamy in the newly-stale air.
“Thanks for this.” I gesture with the cup. “I owe you for sure.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, covering his mouth. “Is it helping?”
“Actually, yes. I already feel like 30% more normal.”
He smirks through his mouthful of food, opening his eyes wide in mock-surprise. “Shit. That’s huge.”
“You have no idea.” I try not to notice the way the streaks of condensation on the cup remind me of slow inching caterpillars.
“You don’t get used to it?” Another bite.
“I dunno. I only smoke when Kay gets it all set up and everything. It’s like…” I stop for emphasis, “…a whole thing. Feel like I’m supposed to or something.” I flick idly at the straw.
“Oh damn, I hate that. That kinda thing is why…” He stops himself. “Well, that’s why I don’t smoke too much with Kay, for sure.” He digs his hand in the bag for another burger.
“You know, you don’t have to smoke if you hang out, you could…” I begin.
“-Oh, no, it’s not like that. I mean, I know what that feels like, the narc in the room…” A long pause. “…And I mean, I don’t even like groups like that. I feel way more comfortable like this.” He stops eating for a moment. “I mean, not just like this, just something like this…” He looks down. “Y’know, Real late at night, talking to someone about nothing and everything. I used to…” His thoughts get away from him again. “I just think it’s nice, really talking.”
I furrow my brow in thought, trying to find the words when the word snaps into focus. “Like, more intimate?”
He looks down again, blushing. “Or just…dunno…” trailing off, he quickly finishes the rest of the burger, as if to punctuate. “C-can you hand me that?” He points at the other bag between my feet.
“Oh, sure.” I dutifully hand the bag to him.
Digging his snout in, he riffles through the bag. “Oh, did you want your pies?”
I snap into the cold logistics of reality, remembering my order. “You can have ‘em. I don’t think I’m actually hungry, sorry.”
Without giving a second thought, he opens the box. “Oh, thanks!” There’s a genuine appreciation in his voice, as if I replying to an unspoken request.
The warmth of the body heat inside the car is causing the windows to fog slightly. The stale, still air giving way to a slight humid warmth, with the faint scent of fryer oil. It’s strangely confronting, reminding me of the early morning drives my parents would make to drop me off at the sitter, sometimes stopping to pick up a breakfast sandwich on the way.
He grabs the other pie. “I’m always hungry after work. I usually don’t eat during my shift.” He says, almost apologetically.
“You don’t have to apologize for being hungry.” I reply, almost defensively. A delayed reaction, I suddenly worry if I pushed too far, a self report.
“Yeah, guess not.” He thinks nothing of it, already finishing the second pie. He adjusts in his seat, making the car rock.
The lowered inhibitions of my current state get the better of me, and I press a little further: “Thanks for taking me to get a drink.” A practiced chuckle. Not too loud, a little wheeze to sound off-the-cuff. “This is easily better than half the dates I’ve been on.” Sip.
He freezes for a moment before pantomiming his previous, normal actions with an almost imperceptible rigidity. I smirk despite myself and almost give the game away.
“O-oh! Hahahahaha. It’s really no problem, I could use the…” His haste overshares a bit too much before catching it again, “I mean, yeah, no problem.”
There it is. “What was that? You were going to say…?” Definitely not hiding the smirk now.
“Oh, it’s really nothing.” He fidgets with a burger wrapper. “I was just gonna say…it’s nice to have company.” He smiles, stifling another blush through his cheeks.
The sudden earnest punch catches me off guard, and my lizard brain responds before I can look it over. “I’m happy to have company too. And you’re good at it.” A shock of icy terror.
His smile grows bigger before retreating again, looking down at the crumpled paper. “You’re still high.”
“So?” Defensive rise in my throat.
“…So you’re not quite yourself. You’re sweet…let’s get you home.” He stuffs the wrapper in the grease marked bag.
I’ve felt this feeling before. It’s part of why I don’t get high so much anymore. That condescension, the glaring, the judgmental chuckle. “That’s not it.”
“Hmm?” He says, half occupied with gathering trash.
“I don’t like being high because I can’t keep up the filter, the mask can’t help but slip. All that stuff you’re not supposed to say, don’t want to be responsible for, THAT’s what comes out. And it’s…a lot. it’s embarrassing. I gotta concentrate SO HARD on holding my tongue or else I’ll say something complicated and unplanned and sober me has to deal with that shit.”
He tilts his head, looking at me now. “Or else you’ll say what?”
A breath. “Or I’ll say how fucking hot I think you are. How I always try and steal a glance when I see you walk past us to grab something before you huddle back in your room again when I’m over there. How I haven’t been able to stop STARING at you all night tonight. Fuck, I’m worried that when I get too high over there, I’m gonna tell Kay that I think his roommate is fucking cute and he’s never going to let me hear the end of it. That I’m gonna make YOU feel uncomfortable because I can’t hold back from GUSHING and then I’m not gonna see you or Kay again because I’m a fucking weirdo.”
I hold the silence for a moment. “…guess that part came true.”
He stares at me for what feels like an hour. Half of his gaze is looking right at me in a way that makes me feel exposed and small and fragile, and half of it is staring right through me, vacant eyes processing the details. I look down in embarrassment, like staring at the sun, but I can still feel his gaze holding. Finally, his voice starts, just over a whisper, “you weren’t right about everything, but…” He snorts to himself. “Kay told me you had a crush on me. I uh…I didn’t believe him.”
My eyes tentatively walk back up to meet his gaze again. “Do you believe me?”
The car is even warmer now, the windows entirely fogged. My gaze has reached him, and he feels so close, the sticky, warm air filling the space between us. Even now, I can’t help but think about how soft his chin looks, how his tusks would feel when leaning in for a kiss, the feel of his fur against mine, the soft squish of his snout. “…Now wh-“
He smashes his face into mine.
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