It felt amazing, just as it always had. But then it felt awful, so immediately harrowing. Quinn gazed upon offwhite, milky, cloudy droplets as they slimed their way down his paw. Livid light from the phone screen bent rays across its external sheen. Its lingering trails were cold, mirroring the way chill was seeping into his body. The glow of the screen fell dim and then dark, but in the dingy cave he called his bedroom even the scant lights from the ephemera and appliances were enough to give his feline eyes great vision.


His smell alighted the air with vapors of musky, murky male scent, so often before it has been a comfort. Such as a fine wine to imbibe during his afterglow, but now it tasted sour as rancid vinegar.


For all his vast awareness of the world without, his world within was in shambles. Quinn was obsessing over the consequence, the meaning, the reason. The lynx was agonizing over a question. One he’s never asked before.


“What in the fuck did I just watch?”


……


Day’s later, he still had no answer. And many more questions, every moment was peppered with debate. Watching another lynx grind his similar cock into the awaiting rectum of a possum, and watching the possum moan as he stroked his own member, was not sitting well with him. The fact that he climaxed as his lynx counterpart also was not sitting well with him. The memory of how easily his thumb pressed the thumbnail, seeing it was homosexual, aware he hadn’t wanted to look, was the worst experience. It was his most fervent complaint. And like all the others before, it had no answer.


The charcoal rolled about his hand, the sleep deprived artist sought God for inspiration. Alighting his eyes and vision to the ceiling. Dated architecture and nearly rusted through pipe and duct work of their aging college art studio looked back at him.


The artist in him found it a fitting compliment to his own predicament. An art studio succumbing to decay and degradation.


The man in him found it a challenge. An attack on his character and status for having to share space with such ugly tones and cacophony.


The Catholic in him found it a temptation. A tribulation by some devil to aflame within his soul the wickedness of his sin.


The scared virgin within him found it a sign. Perhaps as metal gives way to oxidation, he too was giving away to something else. A sexual orientation he had never considered, contemplated, or even bothered to comprehend. A man laying with a man!


The charcoal slipped from his freely dangling hand, clattering along the cracked and uprooting linoleum tiles. But he didn’t stir, his world within still tempestuous and malignant. And eventually, his fellow artists packed up and headed out.


A shocking touch from the world without pierced the veil of inquiry and restored awareness to his surroundings and when he came to the studio professor, Dr. Daunting, stood aside him.


“Quinn, are you well? You looked as if you were about to keel over.” The peacock’s feathered hand slid from his shoulder.


“Oh, my apologies Professor, I had not known you were there. I was simply enthralled by the.. the, um..” He looked to his canvas. Its pasty off white stared back at him; what was once a soothing color was now an exacerbating one. And devoid of any strokes of blackened wood, as it had remained for the past week. Professor Daunting sighed.


“Enthralled, or impeded. What says you?” Quinn looked from his blank slate of pasty white, embarrassment coating on and on to the worries that already besieged his heart.


“My art has not been coming readily, it’s true. But I’m sure it shall again!”


“Indeed, pupil. But while you await your muse, time waits for no mouse. I cannot grade a blank slate.”


“Right…” Forlornness wrapped his word. This was due soon, and there were no class periods left to dedicate to it either. His pride as an artist rose up within him, he just needed time. “I assure you, Professor, it will be completed prior to the deadline.”


“And who shall be your model?”


The finer details of the assignment reconnected within Quinn’s mind. Anatomy of various Anthros, the classes prior had quite a few volunteers with which to draw. Now that the final class had ended, such a privilege was squandered. And he had no reference with which to recall.


“Well… I’m certain I could beseech someone to assist me.” Though who, he knew not. There were not any particular individuals he was close to. And asking them to strip and be nude while Quinn details them for an assignment, judged by strangers, was a request far from simple or easily spoken.


Dr. Daunting was quite perceptive, verily determining the root cause of Quinn's trepidation. With exasperation, the peacock shook his head.


“Would you care for some assistance? I know you're a fine artist, but I have noticed a distinct lack of… I’ll just say companionship with your peers.” Being blasted with the exact insecurities that Quinn was worried about was distressing, but the offer of aid was a godsend.


“Oh, I'd appreciate that immensely, Professor.”


“Very well. A former pupil of mine has assisted with modeling before. He recently also mentioned an interest in spreading his name around among the class. I do suspect there will be a financial transaction between parties but if you are still fine I shall provide you with his details.”


“That’s no issue, I’m fine with haggling a deal at this point. My pride as an artist is worth more than whatever his rate may be.” Quinn felt confident in saying that. Dr. Daunting nodded back slowly as he appreciated the tenacity with which his pupil was exhibiting. There was not a doubt within his mind that he’d succeed.


With contact details shared, Quinn went on his way. The lynx was running behind schedule due to the hold up but he took the time to at least reach out to his potential model. The model, whose name was Gilbert, answered quite quickly. A deal between them was struck and plans made, the following night at seven o’clock.


……


Gilbert the Opossum was low on money, he didn’t believe in the cultural myth of the starving artist but such was the life he was living. He was fine struggling for his art, he wasn’t fine with emaciating himself for it. So he did what he needed to do, what he loathed to do, he networked.


He reached out to friends, family, past professors. Calling on whomever may have a positive opinion of him and assist with profitable ventures. It was a hardship to be sure, the strain to come off as interested but not desperate, as he certainly could be described, was frustrating to be sure.


So when he received a text from a member of Dr. Daunting’s class for a modeling assignment, it was a rather quick negotiation. Fifty dollars for an hour of modeling. Easy, the possum can stand still for a couple hours, he’s great at that, or at least the others he’s worked for had said as much.


His lithe form may have been a consequence of his meager lifestyle, but it had its perks. Usually in the form of artists looking to capture more mature visuals in their art. Artists and their interests, Gilbert knew exactly the struggle. His own muse spoke to him of his own quirks with such variety that it made it difficult to fully comprehend what he was into himself.


As he waltzed his way down into the basement of the school studio, noting still how the ceiling looked rustic and worn, he wondered what meal he could treat himself to after tonight.


The room was dark save for floor based spotlights upon white tarp and background. A stool placed within the aura’s glow. A throne fit for a beggar such as he. He glanced about for his client and saw a spector among the darker recesses of the studio. Gilbert looked upon the lynx, sketchbook open, quick gestures upon the page. The sign of warm up sketches. How he could draw so accurately in the dark was a skill he admired.


Crossing the border between light and dark, Gilbert approached the focused feline.


“Greetings, Quinn. Quite handy, drawing in the dark.”


The moving pencil halted mid-air. “Is it too dark? Sometimes I’m unsure what is appropriate for other Anthros.”


“Not at all, especially if I’m to be in the spotlight, correct?”


“Of course, I-” The spector turned his way, tapetum lucidum eyes shining. And immediately seemed to recoil. Gilbert cocked his head to the side, but was unable to ascertain the cause of the response.


“Are you well?” Gilbert asked.


“Oh, certainly. I simply, um, was unsure what you looked like. Dr. Daunting hadn’t mentioned.”


“Is there an issue? With me being an opossum?”


“Oh! Surely not. I am, um, pleased that you agreed to this.” Despite the words, there was a hesitance in his voice. Gilbert was further confused, but he wasn’t here to understand, he was here to stand and be drawn.


“No worries, Quinn. I’ll strip now, is there a particular pose you’re interested in?”


“Strip! No, uh, there’s no need for that!” Gilbert was again confused.


“Is that not the assignment? Your texts indicated that you needed a nude model, no?”


“I- the assignment?”


“Yes? The assignment, for Dr. Daunting’s class. I thought that’s what you needed.”


“I, I do. It’s simply, it’s a matter of…”


“Of…?”


Those glowing eyes flashed left and right. Gilbert felt the first sense of irritation beneath his pelt. To be lured here and dismissed so readily hurt his ego, and his wallet.


“If you are hesitant with employing me as we agreed, then I’ll gladly take two hours pay and be on my way.”


“Pay? What for?” The flummoxed lynx replied.


“The inconvenience. You called me here, I could have done a number of other things, but I’m here. You owe me something.” Gilbert wasn’t about leave without payment, with services rendered or otherwise to the lynx. The possum held out his palm expectantly and uncompromisingly. He felt his ideals and money for his next meal at stake. The lynx’s eyes looked down.


“My apologies, Gilbert. It was not meant to be an affront to you, I merely… was reminded of someone when I saw you. I, I’d much prefer if you should choose to stay and be my model. I am desperate.” Gilbert mulled over the apology, he had no reason to believe him or not about the cause of his reaction. The lynx’s glowing eyes never met his in the dark, the espers continued to spin and avoid his direction.


Gilbert considered the risks of continuing per their previously agreed upon arrangement. He wasn't keen on working for his money, but with such an apology offered he would have felt it extortion should he take the money without working for it. Ultimately however, it was Quinn's anxious eyes and worry creeping into his voice that convinced him that his claim of being desperate was sincere. The possum certainly knew of desperation, it was a great motivator. Even now, pangs of hunger bit into the possum. And it would have been cruel, crueler than he let himself be, to resign the lynx to whatever woe he’s facing over a jerk reaction to meeting.


“Very well, I accept your apology. Care to keep yourself in check. Then I shall commence stripping, I ask again, did you have a pose in mind?” Their eyes still did not meet.


“No,” the answer came. “I’ll allow you to sit in whatever way is most comfortable.” Gilbert was removing his shirt before the words were finished leaving the lynx’s mouth, alieving the opossum from maintaining a strong front for himself. It was a skill that he unfortunately needed and unfortunately still required practice performing.


Despite such lackings, the student was far beyond modesty considering the means he’s gone to in recent memory to secure funds. His pantaloons were dropped in quick succession following his shirt. The return across the threshold of the standing lights brought a comfortable warmth to his fur. He almost felt the scrutiny with which Quinn gazed upon him from behind. Even more as he turned and faced forward, the luminosity of the lynx’s eyes could not hide the downward flick of his gaze.


Gilbert raised an eyebrow but paid it no greater mind. They were both artists, he doubted Quinn was gazing upon his nakedness with anything more than artistic interest. He decided to grant him a better view with which to see the brunt of him. As Gilbert alighted upon his wooden throne, he placed his left foot upon its first rung, the knee splayed out. The possum’s right leg was extended forward a bit, heel holding his leg. He felt his skin grow taut with tension. Ligaments unfolding about his muscles.


His paws were rested on his thigh, shoulders pulled up straight, profile just a tad off center. In his own mind, he was certain that this was a sufficient pose for Quinn. It’d be a great pose to draw himself, if he had a means to do so at the moment.


“Does this please you?” He inquired. Gilbert didn’t turn towards the point in the dark where Quinn was hiding within the gloom. And he received no reply.


Quinn was certainly besides himself with worry ever since Gilbert approached him  as his model. The similarities between him and possum in the video he masturbated to earlier were beyond uncanny, he could swear it was the same person. And that is just not the reminder the addled lynx needed while preparing to capture his form on the canvas. His nude form.


He failed to register the question from his employee. Only upon repeating it did he turn his gaze to the ring of light. All of which served to highlight the totality of his anatomy.


Quinn couldn't say he's never seen a male's naked form before, as his recent history discloses, but only ever has it been a compositional perspective. The features he found attractive were purely artistic and aesthetic in degree. But there was a new magnetism he felt inside himself as he beheld Gilbert fully. Stressful thoughts baked over the divisions he's placed within his mind, and the cause was poignantly clear. His stable island has been beset by tsunami waves, even the most minor of changes in the tide had rocked the land.


Gilbert certainly had a fine form, a slender litheness that trailed across his limbs, curvature of his tail as it curled about the stool. The slight gauntness that allowed his ribs and skeleture to rise and crest against his skin and fur. The pose he has chosen was masterful, a clear indicator of his knowledge as an artist.


It would indeed be a fine sketch, a wonderful grade. If only he could look anywhere but his groin. The flaccid shaft and round testicles that drooped between his legs never stirred. The opossum was certainly nonplussed about being observed so intently. And that only confirmed one thing to the lynx.


This was the same Anthro, the same creature he had seen before. One he watched be intimate with another lynx. One he has pleasured himself to.


Great fears boiled up in his gut.


“Does this pose suit you?” The naked model asked again. The shock at realizing that this man was here in person only served to infuriate the lynx’s mood further. Of all possibilities that existed within which his request for a model had been answered, this was perhaps the most perilous. The lynx gulped and willed his mind to operate his body.


“Yes, that is… most acceptable.”


The opossum was weirded out. He had been on the receiving end of being called an eccentric artist before but never had he contemplated ascribing that word to another. Quinn was quite beyond measure. Upon his acknowledgement of the pose, Gilbert had no recourse to turn and observe the lynx further. So he let his mind wander.


An artist is nothing if not reflective. The world which he lives in is indeed a cruel one. Striped bare and set before others to make a living, it was a fact of his existence. But at least he could choose to do so.


Should you be desperate enough, there are a million and one ways to make ends meet. Gilbert set his eyes closed, meditating on his courses of action following tonight. Unsure where his next income will originate.


‘There's always that…’ he concluded. The barest truth, the ultimate expression of selling one's body to others. He had done it before with his pal, Grant. A team effort when means have become unbearable for either without grand intervention. He’d do it again, should he need to. If he was desperate enough.  The possum was not at that point yet, though it was spreading. But such thoughts brought billowing storm clouds to his mind. A tense of apprehension threaded through his muscles. It was certain to ruin his posture should he let it. He wondered, instead, how the drawing was going.


There were lines upon the canvas.


Uncertain, unconfident, unclear lines. Black scrapes shearing off upon the milky white surface did not match the vision within Quinn’s sight. He wanted to quit. He wanted to run. He wanted to flee from the guilt and torment. Until this evening, Gilbert was just a set of images within his phone and mind. A nebulous construct of a waking nightmare for the past week. And ones he felt he had woken up from.


Today had been productive, he had meditated and cleared the frustrations from his mind. He seeped himself in art and life, preparing for this evening where he would need to perform a bulk of the line work. Shading, fine details, that is a task for tomorrow. Tonight, tonight he needed lines.


And his lines were not clean. Charcoal smeared across his brow as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Fine claws applying the barest amount of pain to his form. The more he tried to avoid the thoughts, the stronger his craving for imagination and fantasy simmered within his being.


The mental curses and regret for his degeneracy returned. Stronger than they have before.


‘This will not do. What do you want from me, my muse?’ He pleaded. The lynx closed his eyes, Quinn let the anger swell within, choosing to embrace some emotion to stir him and aid in moving his hand. ‘What do you wish of me?’ Tapetum lucidum eyes opened. A package of fine gray pubic hair, a flaccid heap of flesh, two testicles suspended as pendulums. They were the only things he saw. Quinn let the muse guide his hand.


The lines became more sure, the details sprang from destroyed wood, image crisped upon milky white canvas. A finer form than he’s drawn in months. Time ticked away, counting the minutes. Time ticked away, he subbed his charcoal for smaller, finer pieces. time ticked away, his model didn’t move. Hands flew across the surface of the canvas, and time ticked away.


Artist and model, one dark and one lit, sat within the confines of the studio basement where time was only measured in etches and strokes. And once it was complete, Quinn stepped back.


Most of the body was just uncertain, haphazard lines. The stillness Gilbert embodied was immaculate, a true testament to his skill and experience as a model. It was the uncertainty of the artist on display here, the lackluster inspiration for the form. All except for one area, the only one bearing a shred of the dignity and prowess the lynx possessed. A replica of Gilbert’s erection captured in the highest fidelity, the one thing so far he was proud of on this slab. He felt peace, immediately followed by anger.


The canvas and easel sailed in an arc, the exasperation of many moments encapsulated in the one throw. It clattered against the floor, the harshest sound that echoed in the room in over an hour. Gilbert was jerked from his meditative state, aches and cramps flashed through his body. 


“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I can’t. I can’t draw you. I can’t.” Quinn the fellow artist turned from the halo of light and its subject. Gilbert flashed a look to the pile of scattered easel and parchment. The scent of frustration peppered the air, seasoning and marinating it as tension seared both men.


The possum stirred from his throne. The air of calm that emitted from Quinn’s back belied the violent outburst of a few seconds hence. With the curiosity of a cat, Gilbert stepped towards the detritus. The canvas was upturned on the ground but miraculously with no splinters piercing its skin. The bulky frame rotated as Gilbert sought to sate his interest.


The work was incomplete, but certainly redeemable. The lines were wavy but whether intentional artistic consideration or product of lack of skill, Gilbert wouldn’t know. All except for one area. Gilbert raised his eyebrows in surprise at the immaculate detail. His own towering spear rendered in great fidelity and accuracy. Almost like, almost like…


“Ah.. I, perhaps, understand your predicament from earlier a bit more now.” Gilbert didn’t turn towards Quinn. Quinn didn’t look towards Gilbert. “You’ve seen me, prior to this meeting. Haven't you?”


A sigh of exasperation trailed from behind in the recesses of the room, magnified by the isolation of their underground locale. “I have. I’ve… even masturbated to you.”


The opossum had figured as much, such was the way it is when you produce pornography. “I certainly don’t mind that, if that is your concern.” Gilbert turned towards the hazy form of a large cat casting himself away in the corner.


“You don’t mind?” The question was steeped with malice and indignancy. “What makes you think this has anything to do with you? I’m not plaguing your mind, am I? I don’t fester in your waking thoughts, do I? You aren’t harrowed by your actions, are you? No, of course not!” Tapetum lucidum eyes burned at him from the breach. “You don’t mind? Of course not! One such as yourself who holds no shame in your heart, who stands proudly in the aftermath, who can freely bare himself to the world and others. You don’t mind, you say. I never questioned if you did! I never contemplated that. You don’t mind? Well, hear me! I mind! I mind!” Quinn placed his palms upon his chest. “I’m not gay. I’m straight, dammit! I hold no interest in men. But you, your form, your body, your everything! I cannot eject that from my head. I’ve been tormented by the memory ever since. Even now as I long to simply draw and nothing more, I’m cursed, cursed to imagine you. And that… that.. Other lynx.” Searing disgust spat from the enraged feline’s lips. “Even now I’m haunted, more so because of how you stand so shamelessly, unfettered by obnoxious doubts and worries. You don’t mind? I envy you. I envy everything you are, Gilbert!”


The tirade swam in the dark and creeping voids all sputtered around Gilbert. Yet the eyes never wavered, unerring in their focus and persistence upon hin. The possum did not fear him. For in that anger, Quinn didn’t step for him. In truth, the lynx stepped away. Further into the dark and further into fear. Blazing espers sank down.


“I apologize, none of that is your issue or your burden to bear. I release you from your services, I’ll pay you for your time and inconvenience.”


A lynx cowering in the dark, a possum holding an unfinished drawing, and the unwavering distance between light and dark. Gilbert felt a sort of objective humor of the situation, an odd sense of irony. Even as silence rested between them Gilbert felt the lynx recess further and further away, deeper and deeper into himself. The stench of desperation, Gilbert knew it well.


“Would you prefer to talk about it?”


The lynx’s eyes come back to view, flashing vibrantly. Looking for any soul in the dark.


“Pardon?”


Gilbert looked back at the black and white render of his form. “Perhaps, you’d prefer to discuss it aloud. Rather than let it stew in your art and mind.”


Quinn remained silent. The possum rested the unfinished work delicately against the wall, before turning back to where he deposited his garments. He started with his britches, not for the sake of his modesty, but for the sake of his counterpart.


“Well?” Gilbert asked again.


“Are you certain?! After my outburst just now!? You would stay and talk to me?”


“Will you hurt me?” The opossum asked plainly.


“Never, that's not-! That's not remotely on my mind! But…”


“Would you rather I leave? Very well.” He walked past the stool to leave the unfinished drawing. “I'll complete my work and be on my way.”


“I understand.”


Quinn completely understood. After such despicable behavior, it truly wasn't a wonder why. He pulled his wallet from his pants. He brought three hundred dollars for this night. The money wasn't a concern to him and he quickly decided that he'd give it all away. The clattering of wood from in the studio pulled his eyes forward. Gilbert was sitting upon his throne again. The canvas at his side. “What are you…?”


“You are paying me for my time, are you not? There’s no contract between us forbidding spending it otherwise.” Now clothed, the model had placed a second stool within the ring of light opposite of the one he’s been upon. His hand beckoned the stranger to join him. “My burden or not, a burden shared is a burden halved.”


Quinn was speechless, GIlbert rested upon his seat so carelessly. A halo of spotlights dismissing the shadows that stemmed from him. The kind eyes, devoid of judgment despite the outburst, were staring at him back. It moved him, emotionally and physically.


The steps forward into warm heat changed everything. Suppressed waves of exhaustion held back by will surged forth. Quinn felt so immediately drowsy and was quite grateful for the place to sit. He still did not have any idea how to begin, or even whether he should begin.


“I apologize if I frightened you with my outburst.” He tried first. “That certainly wasn’t becoming.”


“Definitely a shock, I had suspected you blemished your image. The truth, it seems, was far more distressing.”


“You hardly understand.”


“No, I suppose I don’t. Unless you’d like to tell me”


Gilbert beheld Quinn, black smudges dyed his forehead, cheeks, and fingers. His tail flicked irritatingly behind him. Dark circles from lack of sleep completed the look.


“I’m not gay.” Quinn continued with finality.


“I have no reason to doubt you.”


“How could you not? I wasn’t lying previously. I have, have pleasured myself to you, and that lynx!” The last two words were spoken as if a swear. “But I’m-”


“Grant.” Gilbert interrupted.


“Excuse me?”


“That lynx’s name is Grant. I’d prefer if you don’t refer to him so basely.”


“Grant?”


“Yes.”


“I’m sorry, I meant no offense towards him. I simply-” Quinn sighed and looked down. “No, that’s a lie. I did mean great offense towards him.”


“And why is that? What could have Grant possibly done to deserve that?”


“Cause he’s a lynx, he’s… like me. I couldn’t, it felt so- This sounds so unreasonable. It felt so much like it was me, even if I knew it wasn’t.”


Gilbert nodded.


“And I felt like I was there, with you, in that passion, in that hedonism. I was swept away, much too quickly, much too strongly. It scared me. He scared me, Grant, that is.”


“And are you scared now?”


Quinn raised his head, Gilbert looked so relaxed as if this was just another day. The lynx looked to the ceiling. Dilapidated and rusting forms of pipes remained roosted in the ceiling. The shadows cast by them were long but stagnant. “I am. I don’t wish to admit it, but I am. I am scared that if I lost myself to that fever once, I may again. Again and again, until I am no longer me.”


“You believe that is truly possible? If you have never done anything like this before, or even if you have, then surely by now you realize how fake it all is.”


“Fake?! What do you mean?”


“How did you describe it? Passionate and hedonistic?” Quinn nodded, intently listening. “I don’t remember it as such. No such feelings were present.”


“You lie!” Quinn ascended from his seat. The accusation burned the air, shattering the calm discussion the two artists were having. “How could that be? I don’t believe that for a moment. You were moaning, loudly. And that lynx- Grant was beyond enthralled with you. You are trying to tell me that was fake. A lie!”


“Yes, Quinn. I am.”


“Preposterous!! Then what was I, what did I? What happened to me? I won’t let you deny what I felt!”

The possum was getting more and more understanding of the situation, and further closer to what problem Quinn was facing. One he did ultimately feel responsible for and therefore sought to correct.


“What you felt is what you felt. What I felt is what I felt. I won’t deny your feelings. Don’t you dare feel like you can deny mine.” The counterclaim released the wind from Quinn’s sails. He sputtered back into the stool from where he rose. He looked quite a few degrees more confused and stressed. Gilbert shook his head. This approach wasn’t working.


“It’s not entirely your fault however. What Grant and I felt and what we tried to convey did not match, but it does seem to have the intended effect.”


“Intended effect?”


“We wanted our watchers to feel that way.”


“Watchers?”


“Our patrons.”


“Patrons?”


“Our customers.”


“C-cu-customers!?”


“Yes. Customers.” The possum was trying hard to remain calm, clearly struggling to convey the point. “What did you think you were watching?”


“An exhibition art piece, a testament of love and appreciation of the physical form, something like that.”


“Quinn, you were watching porn. It’s not quite that classy.”


“Well, but it…”


“It was crafted, edited, and acted in such a way to be stimulating to the eye. We were actors, that’s all.”


“That’s all? That can’t be all. What is your relationship with Grant then?”


“We’re friends, coworkers sometimes, nothing more.”


“Nothing… You’re not in love? It was an act?”


“Verily.”


Quinn clutched at his chest and black smudges traced along his shirt. “No..” The lynx didn’t want to believe it. The lynx couldn’t believe it, the lie he had been sold.


“I’m sorry, it was fantasy. Nothing more.” Gilbert looked towards the backdrop constructed in the studio, a chalky, off-white tarp to break up the divisions of the model that sits upon the stage.


Quinn sat upon his seat. The weight of his misconceptions dug into his shoulders as his claws dug into his knees. Breathing was difficult. The act of suffering for the last week suddenly became trivial and worthless. This new knowledge couldn’t have been worse, suffering without reason was truly invalidating. The lynx felt lost, more lost than he had ever been. The lights around became blinding as he couldn’t help but look away from the possum that sat before him.


“Then where does that leave me? What is left then?”


The moroseness of Quinn’s delivery only served to highlight the absurdity of the questions. The possum tried, and failed, to maintain his composure. Laughter broke out from his gut and he found himself nearly falling off his stool. 


“You’re much too serious, Quinn. ‘Where does that leave me?’ You act as if I’ve robbed the sun, moon, and stars from the sky. You are exactly where you were before. What does it matter whether it was real or not? You said so yourself. You’re not gay, and you were swept up in the moment. ‘What is left?’ I haven’t stolen all the joy in the world from you. Passion, love, enjoyment, that’s still out there. As an artist, as an anthro, you can't believe that there's nothing good left in the world. All because of one mistake. You’re overreacting!”


“Easy for you to say…” Quinn indignantly said.


“Seriously, Quinn? Look at me.” The lynx shook his head. “I’ll prove my point, if only you look my way.”


Quinn couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He wasn’t even certain whether he should be attributing any attention to what this possum was saying. First fooling him with his porn, then laughing at his struggle. Clearly Gilbert has been fiendishly placed within his path to be tempted, and he has fallen for it completely. His heart felt so weak, the struggles were leaving him weak, the tribulations were proving him weak. What could he even believe in?


“Quinn, believe it or not. I am trying to assist you.”


“I don’t know what to trust anymore. It all feels so foggy.”


“I’d start with yourself.” Quinn looked upon the possum. Now that he was clothed, and his illusion had been shattered, the possum looked just so very normal. His cheeks were a little sunken, his arms wiry and thin, and his tail lazily curled about the chair. He smiled. His presence felt very calming.


‘When’s the last time I talked so openly with someone? When’s the last time I talked about something other than art with another individual? When’s the last time I felt so supported by someone? And he doesn’t even know who I am. What is this?’ Quinn breathed in, and slowly let it out. Ideally, it removed some tension from him. Realistically, it only dulled it some. The lynx’s chest remained feeling constricted.


“Very well, I’m looking at you, Gilbert. Where’s your proof?”


“It is rather simple really. Ask yourself again, are you attracted to me?” Quinn shrank back, his immediate reaction was disbelief.


‘Of course, I’m not!’ The simplicity of the answer was immediately staggering. Quinn blinked a few times at Gilbert, who sat still, simply smiling away.


“I’m, I’m not.” He verbalized.


“Then that is that.” Gilbert shrugged. “You’re not gay.”


“I cannot be that simple!” Quinn countered.


“Why are you making it complicated?” Gilbert sat up straighter.


“I, I don’t know. It feels like it should be more complicated.” The possum sighed.


“Trust me, as someone who is gay and as someone who has made it complicated, I’m telling you, if you aren’t attracted to me away from my porn, you aren’t attracted to me. It really is that simple.”


Quinn digested that explanation, marveling in the ease of the argument. He’s not gay if he’s not attracted to men. And he’s not attracted to men. Even when Gilbert first appeared before him this night, even as he stripped nude, even as he sat poised, Quinn didn’t believe what he felt was attraction. He recognized more akin to obsession, the same he’s felt numerous times when burdened by an image that prolongs within his mind’s eye. When his muse had screamed in his ear and demanded his hands obey and he spent hours bedeviled over the lines or haunted by the shading. Endlessly pursuing the perfection he sought.


The lynx looked over at his canvas where it laid upon the stool leg. He pulled it to look upon once more. There were no other answers upon the milky white threads; the featureless being besides his inflated organ didn’t even have eyes to gaze back at him. This was his art, this was his work. He put so much emotion into this piece tonight, all after a week of agony and stress. And this is what came of it.


It was hollowing. He had stripped away everything he was supposed to of his assignment and of his subject. He had rendered Gilbert as nothing more than a sexual object. He wasn’t proud of this at all.


“I’m sorry, Gilbert.”


“Hmm?” The possum responded, perplexed by the response.


“I know nothing of you, you know nothing of me, and yet, here you are.” The feline set the frame upon the floor. “Here you are, as you are, assisting me. And all I’ve done has been to objectify you and dismiss you.” He laughed wryly, his conscience eating away at itself. “What a fool I’ve been.” Quinn turned once again to face his subject. The possum sat head cocked to the side. “Maybe it was a lie, maybe it was a fabrication, but I was the one who made it real. And I was the one that subjected you to my immaturity. I’m sorry.” He prostrated his head.


“As I said before, Quinn, I don’t mind.”


“And as I said before, Gilbert. I mind. If you wouldn’t mind accepting my apology, I’d be extremely grateful.”


Gilbert blinked in response, all the liveliness of Quinn seeped away as he bowed. As he pulled himself up the manic energy of his eyes was gone. But they still burned, tapetum lucidum eyes, it seems, would blaze in the dark and the light.


“Very well, Quinn. I accept your apology.”


“Thank you.”


“You really are quite a serious person, are you not?” Gilbert chuckled


“I am as I am.” Quinn followed suit. The possum’s eyes turned skyward towards rusting pipes and dilapidated ceiling panels. There was a uniqueness in the randomness of it.


“Isn’t that the truth?”


The pair laughed at themselves, surrounded by light, rust, and walls.


“What now, Quinn? Should we get back to it? Your drawing isn’t going to finish itself.” He gestured to the white linen.


“Ah, well, I should, yet…”


“Worried?”


“In part, still.” The lynx admitted.


“I want you to make me a deal, then. If you need to stop, trust yourself to stop. I won’t charge you for any time you need to take a step back and remind yourself of who you are. You have my word.”


“I, I’d appreciate that! A whole lot, Gilbert! But, if you wouldn’t mind answering me this.” The lynx paused, leaning forward towards the possum.


“What?”


“Well, in short. Why? Why do this? Why stay when you could just so easily have left? You’ve been quite helpful thus far, as my model and as a listener, but I suppose I don’t know why that is.”


Gilbert closed his eyes. The questions Quinn posed were simple in speech, and deep in complexity. They could not be answered without thought.


“You looked desperate. Lost, confused, scared. Some things I cannot turn away from. No matter how much easier it would be for me. And that’s all.”


“That’s it?”


Gilbert reopened his eyes, beholding the curious cat before him. The eyes of an artist, constantly searching for meaning in the randomness of the world.


“Perhaps it is just that simple. Or maybe not. Who knows?” The possum shrugged. Quinn scrunched his brow in confusion and disappointment.


“I was hoping you would.” He responded. The comment made the model laugh.


“Well, if I ever find another answer for you, I’ll be certain to let you know.” The lynx shook his head as he leaned back upon his stool, a grunt of frustration passing from his mouth.


“How disappointing. But I think I’ve decided something else.”


“What’s that?”


“Let’s be away from here tonight. I don’t think I can draw what I want yet.”


“Ah, I see. But isn’t the assignment due soon? You don’t have much time left.” Gilbert asked.


“True, but I need to know more about my subject than just their physical form. I require more, substance, more… character.”


“And how do you suppose to do that?”


“I need to get out of this basement. I’m starving, how about I treat you to a late meal? And if you wouldn’t mind, I’d much prefer it if you joined me. I’d like to know more about you before returning to my art. If you wouldn’t mind.”


The offer of a meal was more than enough to entice the possum who was standing up with little thought. “I’d be delighted to attend! I was feeling quite peckish myself!” Quinn stood in turn, mentally acknowledging the eager scuttering of his acquaintance.


“Let us be away then. I’ll allow you the opportunity to decide what you’d like.”


The pair quit the studio and rose up the staircase providing passage back to the world. Gilbert was rapidly listing off location after location they could dine, each more passionate and hedonistic than the last. Quinn was certain this time, there was no lie in that behavior. And there was no confusion about what he was feeling either. He knew it wasn’t attraction, nor was it obsession either. He couldn’t name it yet. In time however, he learned that this was the beginning of friendship.