Inferno closed at ten o’clock that night, which cast Malik into the evening gloom. And, on those streets—with not a soul in sight—Inferno in his pocket burned like Hell, as heavy as a church bell with its sins. He found no joy in answering the knell, Inferno calling to him like the devil horned, and yet, he knew, that something worse was there: for Hell had not a fury like a Wyatt scorned.

   The dhole had thought on paying it no heed and finding something else to fill his paws, but such a path would only ever lead to scorn—the likes of which he’d not survive. And, even if his deer let it alone, one day, the argument would be revived. So, with a sigh, Malik retrieved his phone and brought it, slow, beside his twitching ear. 
He did not speak, instead awaiting Wyatt’s stone. 

   “Ah, there you are, Malik!” exclaimed the deer, “I called your cell three times—are you all right? The office said you’d left, but you’re not here.”

   In weaving doubt and rue into his voice, Malik resigned to sow another sin. Inferno at his back, he had no choice.

   “Hello, my darling deer,” began Malik. “I thought I’d said that work would keep me late—did I forget another thing for us, this week?”

   His sorry tone extinguished Wyatt’s flame before the blaze could even spit or bite. “Well, if you did,” he said, tone soft and tame, “I’d scarcely think it mattered anymore. Besides, weren't you the one who always said regret would leave me raw and feeling sore?” 

   “The thing to which regret has lead, I’d say, but yes, I think I see your point, my dear. This thing I somehow missed—could we, another day?”

   “Her birthday only happens once a year,” he said, his cinders sparking once again. “She keeps on asking where you’ve disappeared—I’ve half a mind to hound you down, myself.”

   “It's just a few more months, my love,” he said, “and then it's said, and done, and on the shelf. A better life, for you, for me, for her—if time’s the sacrifice, I'll gladly pay. Then, things will be the way they were before, I'm sure.”

   “You promised something similar with pride, some months ago—my patience will run out eventually, Malik,” the deer replied.

   The silence, acrid in the air like smoke, cut to the quick and stung the dhole’s wide eyes. “Look, let me make it up to you,” he spoke.

   Another pause. Another dying pyre.

   “Her birthday may be over,” Wyatt said.  “The night, however, lives. Meet me at the Quill & Quire before eleven—they’ve a special evening show.  I’d like to have some time with you, alone.”

   “In a crowded theatre? I will, although I know I’ll only see our box’s floor while you enjoy my muzzle and the show.”

   [i]“Mais au contraire, mon cher.[/i] You’ll see much more than I, as you’ll be seated on my lap. Now, hurry on, and don’t you dare come late.”

   “I don’t deserve you, dear. I’ll be there in a snap.”

   The call was done, and yet he couldn’t help but feel a heaviness inside his chest—his shaking paws made him a spineless whelp, but burning brimstone buried deep beneath his callous, wanting flesh betrayed his shame. How many times they’d met with tongue and teeth to set things right and mend their broken vows? And, would this be the final meeting, then, despite it rising from the heat their clashing roused?

   Inferno’s sins adhered to him like ash brought on from distant, glowing mountaintops and nearer, wicked wishes, unabashed. So much had been invested in their hopes—and for all that, the months had turned their dreams into a gallows stage, Janelle, the rope, the little sister turned unwanted child. Though Wyatt took to caring like a nun, Malik still craved the days when they were young and wild.