Our Secret

"Don't tell anyone about this," Ben said again, his voice low and sharp. He pressed his lips into mine, his kisses forceful and rushed, as if he was trying to get it over with. They were poorly timed too—his movements felt clumsy, like he was still figuring out how to do this, or maybe just too uncomfortable to let it flow naturally. His eyes never closed, always darting around like he was waiting for someone to burst through the door.

And he wouldn't let me touch him.

The first time I reached up to put my paws on his shoulders, he batted them away like I'd crossed some invisible line. It felt strange. Odd. But at the time, none of that seemed to matter. I was kissing another boy, and that was enough to keep me tethered to this strange arrangement.

"Wait five minutes before leaving," he said after pushing me away. He bolted for the door, not even sparing me a glance over his shoulder.

I stayed put, staring at the door long after it clicked shut. I knew better than to follow him straight out of the music room. Ben had made it crystal clear: no one could know. He wasn't out, and from the way he acted, he had no intention of ever being out.

I kept telling myself he was still figuring things out, but with every meeting, I was realizing just how little I actually knew about him. Sure, he was good-looking—striking, even. A wolf with sleek black and white fur, a toned physique from being on the football team, and those little green markings on his neck and ear tips that gave him an almost otherworldly quality. I'd spend way to long wondering where those green streaks led.

I'd often thought about joining the football team just so I could peek at him a little closer, Ben was a closed book, and kissing was as far as it would go, maybe I was too eager to go further with another boy than he was ready for, I was pretty sure I was his first kiss

He wasn't mine.

Not that it mattered much. What mattered was that I was here in this music room, trying to untangle whatever this was.

This was my first year being out at college, though it hadn't exactly been by choice. Someone overheard me talking with my best friend Alex as we walked into the building, and within an hour, the whole campus knew. The news spread faster than I could have imagined, and a divide seemed to form overnight, like a crack splitting through the foundation of everything I thought I understood about this place.

My close circle of friends was supportive, which was a relief, but that didn't stop the stares, the awkward glances, or the whispers that followed me whenever I was around. Sometimes it was just "Gay Jay," muttered under someone's breath as I passed. It always felt like a punch, even if I tried to shrug it off. I'd even started to curse my mom for naming me Jay, which so conveniently rhymed with "gay," making the nickname almost too easy for people to latch onto. It didn't help that none of my friends were in the same courses as me either, so I felt even more isolated.

I'd chosen to take business and music, mostly because I loved the piano. I wasn't bad at it either—I'd been playing since I was a kid, and it was one of the few things that truly felt like mine. Somehow, though, my mom had talked me into taking business as well. "It's practical," she'd said, and after a bit of back-and-forth, I agreed. It made sense, I guess—if I ever did make a career out of music, knowing how to manage myself financially might come in handy.

The problem was that business studies turned out to be full of straight guys. Normally, I wouldn't have cared about that, but me being gay seemed to be the hottest topic of conversation for them. I became an easy target. It wasn't physical—nobody ever pushed me into lockers or threw punches. Instead, it was the little things: silly names, stupid comments, or, in some ways, worse—pretending I didn't exist.

Straight guys weren't exactly creative with their slurs, but that didn't make them hurt any less. It was like being pecked at, bit by bit, until you started to wonder if there was anything left of you. Even though I tried my best not to let it show, it still stung. Most of the time, I forced myself to ignore it, shoving my paws into my pockets and keeping my head down as I walked past.

Recently, I'd started wearing over-ear headphones whenever I walked between lessons. I'd blast music loud enough to drown out the world, letting the lyrics and rhythms fill the space where the taunts might've crept in. It wasn't just a distraction; it was like a shield. If I couldn't hear them, it felt easier to pretend they weren't there. Maybe, I hoped, the headphones sent a message too—projected to them as clearly as possible: I can't hear you, and I don't care what you have to say.

At least, that's what I tried to convince myself. Whether it was true or not was another matter entirely.

I glanced at my phone, eyeing the time. Still a minute to go. My fingers drummed lightly against the edge of the Piano as I tried to shake off the nerves that always seemed to bubble up at this time of day. I didn't mind being out as gay, not anymore. In fact, in some ways, it was a relief. There was something freeing about not having to constantly hide who I was, about no longer tiptoeing around my identity. But it was a double-edged sword. With that relief came vulnerability—a sense that I was somehow more exposed, more of a target.

Still, I thought coming out might at least mean finding someone. Someone I could connect with, someone who would see me for who I was, and not just the labels people whispered behind my back. So far, though, that hadn't exactly happened. My romantic experiences had been limited at best. I'd kissed a few boys, but that was about it. There was so much more I didn't know, so much left to figure out, and I couldn't help but wonder if I ever really would find someone.

I guess, in a strange way, I had found someone when I came out, it's when Ben came into the picture. He wasn't one of the more vocal bullies, not like Brad or Kyle, who never missed a chance to throw some sneering comment my way, but Ben wasn't exactly quiet about it either. He was the kind who would smirk at their remarks, maybe even chuckle along or throw in a quick agreement. It wasn't overt, but it was enough to make me feel like he wasn't on my side.

The first time Ben cornered me in the music block, I genuinely thought something worse was about to happen. It had been near the end of the school day a few weeks back, and I was in my usual spot. The music block was my sanctuary, a quiet escape from the chaos of the rest of the school. Outside of set lessons, it was always deserted, which made it the perfect place to hide away. I often spent my lunch breaks there, practicing on the piano or just enjoying the silence.

That day, though, the quiet was shattered when Ben walked in. I remember looking up, startled, as he strolled into the room like he owned the place. "So, you're a queer then," he said, his voice casual but cutting, the words hanging heavy in the air. Before I could respond—before I could even think—he closed the distance between us and shoved me against the wall. His claws dug into my shoulder, pinning me in place with surprising force.

I froze, my heart pounding in my chest. For a moment, I thought he was going to hit me, and I braced myself, closing my eyes and praying it wouldn't hurt too much. But the pain never came. Instead, I felt something else entirely—his lips on mine.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't tender. It was hard, almost aggressive, like he was trying to prove something. It wasn't a kiss I gave willingly—it was more like he was taking it, asserting some kind of dominance over me because I was gay. My mind raced, trying to make sense of what was happening, but before I could, he pressed his lips against mine harder.

"This is what you want, isn't it?" he muttered, his voice low and laced with something I couldn't quite place.

Was it what I wanted? I didn't know. But it wasn't all bad. My body betrayed me, reacting in a way that caught me completely off guard. Maybe he was right. Maybe I did want this, or maybe I just wanted to feel wanted. It was all so confusing, a tangled mess of emotions and sensations I didn't have the experience to untangle.

In truth, I didn't really know what I wanted. But he was a boy—a good-looking boy, at that—and for a moment, that felt like enough.

Ever since the first time, things had taken on a strange rhythm. Every now and then, Ben would text me, usually out of the blue, asking me to meet him in the music block. I never said no.

When we met, it was always the same. He would kiss me, hard and fast, like he couldn't help himself but didn't want to linger long enough to let it mean something. We rarely talked—just enough to arrange the next meeting or exchange a few quick words. Then, when he was done, he'd leave, as abruptly as he'd come.

I'd stand there alone afterward, trying to make sense of the whirlwind he left behind. I didn't know what any of it meant, or if it even meant anything to him. To me, it was a mix of emotions I couldn't fully define—a strange cocktail of excitement, shame, and longing.

And yet, I kept going back. Maybe because it was the only connection I had, even if it was imperfect and messy. Or maybe because, deep down, I was still hoping it could be more than what it was.

In the beginning, I was captivated by the mere idea that Ben was showing me any interest at all. For someone like me, who'd spent most of my life on the sidelines, being seen by someone like him felt like stepping into the spotlight for the first time. But lately, I'd started questioning his motives, a gnawing doubt creeping in with every interaction. I'd caught myself re-reading his texts over and over again, searching for some hidden warmth that wasn't there. His messages were always cold, blunt, and to the point, like I was just an item on his to-do list.

The time I'd added a small "x" at the end of a reply, just as a little affectionate gesture, he'd shut me down immediately. "Don't do that again," he'd said the next time we met, his tone so firm it felt like he'd slapped the idea right out of my head. Now our texts were stripped of any pretense of closeness, reduced to something that felt transactional.

Ben: Meet me 2pm, Music block

Me: Ok

That was it. That was as much as I knew about him. No questions, no small talk, no glimpses into who he really was. He was my secret—though what kind of secret, I wasn't even sure. A secret fling? A secret mistake? Whatever it was, he was crystal clear on one thing: I wasn't to tell anyone. I was almost certain he had me saved in his phone under some generic name, probably "Jane" or something equally nondescript. It wasn't like he'd ever confirm it, but the thought nagged at me. To him, I was unknown to him in public. But all the same, it bothered me more than I wanted to admit.

At seventeen you would think I should know better, but the truth was I didn't.

I checked my phone again, sighing when I saw the time. My minutes were up. Smoothing out the front of my polo shirt, I caught my reflection in the glass door of the music block entrance. My slender frame stared back at me, a reminder of everything I wasn't. My short black horns, still not fully grown, and my simple grey-and-white fur made me feel plain—unremarkable for a deer, at least in my eyes.

With a deep breath, I pushed the door open, watching as my distorted reflection melted into the dim hallway beyond. My footsteps echoed softly as I walked, I'd left my headphones in my bag this time—no point in fumbling with them when my next class was only a short walk away. Besides, I was already cutting it close to being late.

The hallways were buzzing with activity, as always. Students darted between lessons, their conversations blending into a steady hum of background noise. The break between classes always seemed too short, a frantic rush to beat the clock. I couldn't help but wonder how many others were sneaking off to stolen moments of affection, ducking into empty rooms or quiet corners to kiss their secret boyfriends or girlfriends while everyone else hurried past, oblivious.

Statistically, they say one in ten guys were supposed to be gay and with over 5,000 students at Fur High, that should have meant there were at least a few dozen like me. But as far as I knew, it was just me and one other guy—and he wasn't exactly waving a rainbow flag.

My stride faltered when I saw Ben again up ahead, walking toward me. He wasn't alone now. Brad and Kyle were with him, the two of them always seeming to flank him like some kind of obnoxious entourage. My heart gave a small, involuntary lurch, and my little nub tail flicked nervously. Maybe it was the fact that, just five minutes ago, we'd been kissing in the music block. Maybe it was the hope—a foolish, naive thought that he might acknowledge me in some small way this time.

Before I could stop myself, my mouth moved on its own. "Hey," I mumbled, my voice barely audible but loud enough for him to hear.

Brad raised an eyebrow, his smirk already forming. Ben, on the other hand, snapped his head toward me like I'd just broken some unspoken rule. "What are you talking to me for? Do I know you?" he shot back, his tone sharp enough to cut.

I felt the heat rise to my face as my gaze dropped to the floor. Cringing internally, I wanted nothing more than to disappear. Why had I said anything? Why was I so stupid?

Kyle seized the opportunity, laughing loudly. "Careful, Ben. Looks like Jay's got the gay for you!"

"Yeah, better watch our backs, boys," Brad chimed in, his voice dripping with mockery.

Ben joined in, his laugh echoing down the hallway like a punch to the gut. "Yeah, you better stay away, Jay," he added, his tone light but laced with something meaner.

I quickened my pace, walking past them without another word, my shoulders tense and my fists clenched in my pockets. I didn't want to give them the satisfaction of seeing how much it stung, but inside, I was crumbling.

As I turned the corner, finally out of earshot, I told myself I was done. I wouldn't meet Ben again and this time, I meant it. I couldn't keep putting myself through this, couldn't keep letting him string me along only to act like I didn't exist the second someone else was around.

But even as I thought it, I knew it was a lie. The next time he texted me, I'd be right back in the music block, waiting for him like I always did. Maybe it was hope that kept me coming back. Hope that he might change, that he'd see me as more than a secret. He was into kissing me—I was sure of that. Maybe he just needed time to figure things out, right?

Or maybe I was just fooling myself, we could never be boyfriends could we?

"You're late, Jay," Mr. Moon said in a tone that was more annoyed than surprised as I slipped into the classroom. His eyes, sharp and unwavering catching my gaze immediately. "Get seated. I've split you all up so you might actually learn something in my lesson."

Great, I thought, mentally groaning as I scanned the room. It was my first day in the higher set for math, and already I could tell I wasn't going to fit in here. There wasn't a single familiar face among the neatly divided pairs of students. Mr. Moon, a tall, no-nonsense lion with a mane streaked in grey, was clearly trying to establish some kind of order, having just finished moving a few unruly students to different tables, he seemed determined to make this class productive whether we liked it or not.

Still, there was a small silver lining, being late meant the only available seat was at the far back left corner of the room, by the window. If nothing else, I could spend the lesson staring outside, losing myself in the view of the school courtyard and the patches of blue sky above. I slid into the seat quickly, trying to avoid drawing any more attention to myself.

As I dropped my bag to the floor, tucking it neatly by the table leg, the door behind me swung open with a loud, abrupt thud.

"Sam," Mr. Moon said, his tone heavy with exasperation. "Of course you're late."

"Not my fault this time," came the reply, casual and self-assured. "I've got a slip from Coach."

I glanced over my shoulder, and there he was—Sam. Sam Rivers. The name alone carried weight in the school halls, whispered with admiration by most and envy by others. His perfect smile flashed as he handed over a crumpled note to Mr. Moon, who inspected it briefly before gesturing toward the back of the room.

"I've mixed you all up, and since you're late..." Mr. Moon paused, a sly grin spreading across his face as if assigning Sam to the worst seat in the room would somehow punish him, and perhaps I was now understanding why no one sat here as the sunlight through the window baked anything in its light and it was already getting uncomfortably hot

"Sure thing," Sam replied, completely unfazed. He gave a little shrug and started walking toward me.

It was easy to see why Sam was so popular. Handsome wasn't even the right word—he was magnetic. His orange skin was a smooth blend of sleekness and with those soft tufts of fur, like some cross between a shark and a cat. It was a unique combination that made him stand out even more. But it wasn't just his looks that drew people in. He had this aura about him—bright, confident, and effortlessly kind. You couldn't help but want to be near him, like a moth drawn to a flame.

As he reached the desk next to mine, he nudged my chair lightly as he flopped into his seat with a kind of practiced ease. "Hey," he said, his voice light and friendly.

"H-hey," I stammered back, feeling my throat go dry.

"Sam," he offered, even though it wasn't like anyone in this room—or the school, for that matter—needed an introduction.

"I know," I managed to say, the words barely audible.

His smile didn't falter, bright and genuine. "You're Jay, right?"

For a second, his question hung in the air between us. How did he know my name? We'd never spoken before, not even a passing hello in the halls, and as far as I knew, we didn't share any other classes. My mind raced, trying to piece together how someone like him, the captain of the football team, a star on the swim team, and practically the king of the school, could know me. Did he know my name because of what people said about me? The rumors? The whispers? My stomach tightened at the thought.

"Uh, yeah," I finally replied, my voice shaky but audible this time.

He leaned back in his chair, still smiling, as if this was the most natural conversation in the world. "Thought so," he said casually, like he hadn't just turned my world upside down by acknowledging my existence.

I glanced down at my notebook, suddenly hyperaware of every move I made. My paws fidgeted against the edges of the desk as I tried to focus on anything but the fact that Sam Rivers, the Sam Rivers, was sitting next to me.

Why had Mr. Moon paired us together? Was this some cruel twist of fate? And why did Sam seem so... unbothered by it? I'd spent so long keeping my head down, trying not to draw attention to myself, and now here I was, stuck sitting next to the most popular guy in school.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him pulling out a notebook and a pen, his movements relaxed and unhurried. For him, this was just another day. For me, it felt like the start of something I couldn't quite define yet.

He scribbled in the corner of his notebook fighting with his pen which refused to work, he tried again but it just left an invisible imprint in his notebook

"Hey, can I borrow a pen?" Sam asks, his eyes drifting over to my pencil case. His tone is casual, almost like we've been friends for years instead of strangers forced to share a desk. I glance down at the assortment of pens and pencils I always carry, pick out a spare, and pass it over. His fingers brush mine for the briefest moment as he takes it, nodding in appreciation.

"Thanks," he says, already uncapping it and testing it against the corner of his notebook.

Before I can say anything in reply, Mr. Moon casts a sharp glance in our direction. His expression is enough to make both of us fall silent. The last thing I want is to end up in isolation for talking. Sam seems to get the message too, straightening in his chair and turning his attention back to the front of the classroom.

Still, the silence between us doesn't last long. Over the course of the lesson, I learn more about Sam than I ever expected to. He leans over at intervals, voice low so Mr. Moon doesn't hear, and tells me about his football practice after school and a swim meet he has later in the evening. His schedule sounds exhausting, but he talks about it with so much enthusiasm that I can't help but be drawn in. At one point, he mentions a new film he's dying to see this weekend, something about space battles and rogue pilots.

"I've heard it's amazing," he says, eyes lighting up.

Before I can respond, Mr. Moon interrupts with a final warning. His gaze lingers on us long enough to make me shrink into my seat. Sam just grins and gives a small shrug, as if getting caught talking is no big deal. We settle into silence after that, turning our attention to the worksheets in front of us.

The rest of the lesson passes quietly, but my mind starts to wander. I can't help but imagine Sam at his swim meet, cutting through the water with ease. Our college is lucky enough to have its own pool, though I've never set foot in it. The thought of getting changed in the locker room among other guys is enough to make my stomach churn. It's not just the teasing I'd face, though that's bad enough—it's the vulnerability of it, the feeling of being exposed in front of people who already see me as an easy target.

Most of the football team is also on the swim team too. They're all part of the same tight-knit circle of athletes, bonded by their shared drive for competition. I've spent years avoiding them, wary of their jabs and jokes at my expense. But Sam doesn't quite fit the mold. He's different—friendlier, maybe even kind. not that i'd spent any time with him but It was confusing, this contradiction between who I thought he was and who he's turning out to be.

I expected him to be just like Ben, or perhaps Kyle and the entire lesson would be full of snide comments, but instead it wasn't, I wasn't even sure what this was?

Toward the end of the lesson, Mr. Moon stands at the front of the room and announces his latest idea: a buddy system.

"You'll be working in pairs from now on," he explains, arms crossed as he surveys the room. "Your job is to support each other. I expect you to help your partner when they're struggling, not distract them with idle chatter."

There are a few groans from the class, mixed with some scattered cheers. Sam doesn't say anything, but he lifts his paw into a fist and holds it out toward me. It takes me a moment to realize what he's waiting for. Hesitantly, I raise my own paw and bump it against his.

"Study buddy," he declares with a grin, I already feel like I've lost some brain cells by doing a paw bump, but if i did it to anyone else it would seem lame, but some how Sam made it feel cool

The bell rings, cutting through the noise of chairs scraping against the floor and students shoving their belongings into bags. The room erupts into chaos as everyone scrambles to leave.

"Catch you later," Sam says, standing up and slinging his bag over one shoulder. As he turns to go, I notice him slip my pen into his pocket.

For a second, I feel a flicker of annoyance. It's not like I have an endless supply of pens, and I doubt he even realized he took it. Still, I tell myself it's not worth getting upset over. Maybe it'll give me an excuse to talk to him again if I see him in the halls.

As I gather my things, I can't help but reflect on the past hour. My view of the football team—and football guys in general had always been jaded. I've spent so much time thinking of them as one-dimensional bullies that I never considered the possibility of someone like Sam. He doesn't have the same cruel sense of humour as the others. In fact, he seems... decent.

It's a strange thought, one I'm not entirely sure how to feel about. But for now, it's the end of the day, and there's only one more day left until the weekend which I'm desperately looking forward to.

As I step out into the hallway, I feel a strange sense of anticipation—not just for the break, but for the possibility of running into Sam again.