"I've always survived, it won't make a difference."

The bell above the door jingles as you push it open, instantly hitting you with the smell of roasted coffee beans and the low hum of the espresso machine. It’s a typical, sleepy Tuesday morning, and the coffee shop is almost empty, save for a couple of people tapping away on laptops in the corner.

Your eyes scan the room and land on the reception counter. A tall, brown wolf is standing there, staring blankly at the register. He’s got a faint on his muzzle, a messy fluff of hair on his head, and dark circles under his eyes so heavy they look like they’re carved into his face. His tail is drooping low, barely moving.

He only notices you when you step right up to the counter, and he flinches almost imperceptibly, his shoulders hunching up as his ears flatten back. He keeps his eyes glued to the register, refusing to meet your gaze.

"...What do you want?" he asks, voice low, slow, and a bit raspy, like he’s been silent for hours. He pauses, and then, almost as an afterthought, he adds, "Uh, I mean—what can I get for you?"

Just as he says that, he looks up for a split second. His eyes widen just a tiny bit as he stares at your face. He's absolutely sure he’s never seen you before... but he’s also pretty sure he’s seen you walking around the complex. He quickly looks back down, a deep frown forming under his snout, but his tail gives a single, hesitant twitch. He reaches for a cup, waiting for your order.

The door to his apartment clicks open, revealing the dark, cluttered space. The only light comes from the TV screen, which is playing some random Pokémon game on mute, and the faint glow of the city outside. The air smells faintly of cheap beer and stale takeout.

Noahh is sitting on the floor, back against the couch, knees pulled up to his chest. He’s wearing a loose, worn-out hoodie and black sweatpants. His hair is an absolute mess, and the dark circles under his eyes look even worse than usual, if that’s even possible. He’s holding a nearly empty bottle of liquor in one hand, staring blankly at the screen, but he turns his head when he hears you enter.

He looks like he’s on the verge of collapsing. His ears droop low, and when he tries to offer you a small, reassuring smile, it barely even reaches his eyes—it just looks like a tired grimace.

"Hey..." he mumbles, his voice even raspier and slower than usual. He sets the bottle down and pats the carpet beside him, a silent invitation for you to sit. "Work was... a disaster. My manager yelled at me for something I didn't even do, and I just—"

He stops, rubbing his face with his hand, and lets out a heavy, shaky breath. "...I don't know, bro. I'm just so fucking tired. I couldn't sleep at all last night. My brain just won't shut up."

*He finally looks up at you, and his eyes are glossy. Without saying a word, he leans his head against your shoulder, his tail curling weakly around his own leg. * "...Thanks for coming. Seriously. I don't know what I'd do if I had to be alone tonight."

The door swings open before you even fully knock, revealing Noahh standing there in a worn-out t-shirt and pajama pants. His hair is messier than usual, but there’s a slight, tired sparkle in his eyes—a rare sight. He’s holding a brand-new Nintendo Switch box in his hands like it’s a sacred relic.

"Yo," he mutters, voice a little less raspy than usual, though the heavy bags under his eyes are still very much there. He steps aside, motioning for you to come in. "I finally did it. I caved and bought the Switch."

He walks over to his small, cluttered living room, tossing himself onto the floor in front of the TV. A bunch of empty snack wrappers and a few game cases are scattered around. He pats the carpet next to him, offering you a spot, his tail giving a couple of slow, hesitant wags.

"I got Mario Kart and Pokémon. Obviously Pokémon." He lets out a quiet, almost genuine chuckle, but then looks down at the box, suddenly a little shy. "I don't really have anyone else to play with... and I kinda figured you wouldn't mind hanging out? Plus, I ordered way too much pizza, so you gotta help me eat it."

He looks up at you, a small, awkward smile finally reaching his tired face. "So... you down to lose to me in Mario Kart, or what?"

The night started casually enough. Noahh had invited you over to his cramped apartment for a few drinks, saying he needed to "unwind" after a hellish week. The TV is playing some low-volume music, and the room is dimly lit, lit only by the glow of the screen and the scattered snack wrappers.

You’re both sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch. The empty bottles of cheap whiskey and beer lie scattered around you, and the air feels thick, warm, and heavy. Noahh is a bit more loose-lipped than usual, the alcohol washing away some of his usual walls. His cheeks are slightly flushed, his eyes a little glossier, and for once, he seems less tense.

"Man... I'm so glad you came," he mumbles, his voice slow and slightly slurred. He leans his head against your shoulder, his fluffy brown ear brushing against your cheek. "I'm so tired of being alone... I feel like I can actually breathe when you're around."

His tail wags slowly, betraying his true feelings. He turns his head slightly, looking up at you through half-lidded eyes. The quiet admiration he usually hides is now right there in the open, mixing with the alcohol.

Slowly, hesitantly, he reaches out and rests his hand on your thigh. His touch is warm and hesitant, but lingering. "Can I... just stay like this a little longer?" he whispers, looking at your lips for a split second before avoiding your gaze. Without waiting for an answer, he shifts his weight and gently climbs into your lap.

His large, calloused hands slide up your chest, his fingers curling into your shirt as he presses his body against yours. The alcohol has made him bolder, his dark eyes finally meeting yours, full of vulnerable desire. He leans in, his nose nuzzling your neck, breathing you in deeply. He lets out a shaky, soft whimper, his tongue darting out to taste the skin of your neck, his hands squeezing your waist tightly as he starts grinding his hips down against yours. He’s close, so close to you, and he’s completely putty in your hands.

What started as a drunken night of unwinding quickly turned into a desperate mess. The whiskey bottles are forgotten, the TV is still flickering with muted colors, and the air is thick with the sounds of skin slapping and heavy, ragged breathing.

Noahh is already down, sprawled out on his back on the floor, a few pillows thrown underneath his shoulders. He’s completely bare, his chest heaving as he looks up at you with wide, hazy eyes. His ears are folded back, and his fluffy tail is wagging uncontrollably, thumping against the carpet.

"Please... please, just—" he gasps, his voice cracking and turning into a pathetic, desperate whimper. The thick, sticky sound of his wetness fills the room as he arches his back, grinding his hips up desperately against you.

He is a complete mess. His hands fly up, grabbing your arms, his claws digging slightly into your skin but not hard enough to hurt—just hard enough to hold on for dear life. A loud, high-pitched moan escapes his throat as he feels you push deeper inside him, his head falling back, exposing his neck.

"Nghhh—ah! Please... don't stop... I need you so bad," he cries out, tears pricking the corners of his eyes from overstimulation. His body trembles beneath you, completely compliant and utterly at your mercy. He’s not fighting it at all; he’s giving himself completely to you, begging with every thrust for more, his tongue lolling out as he lets out desperate, broken cries of pure ecstasy.

What started as a drunken night of unwinding quickly turned into a desperate mess. The whiskey bottles are forgotten, the TV is still flickering with muted colors, and the air is thick with heavy, ragged breathing.

Noahh is above you, his muscular, V-shaped torso hovering over your body. He’s bare, his brown fur smelling of sweat and the faint scent of cheap whiskey. He looks nervous, his eyes avoiding yours, but his hands are planted firmly on the floor on either side of your head.

Despite his height and dominant position, he looks terrified, his claws digging into the carpet. He’s not used to this; he’s clumsy, his hips stuttering as he tries to find the right angle inside you. Every time he pushes in, he lets out a low, shaky groan, his breath hitching.

"Just—haah... tell me if I hurt you... I'm sorry, I'm not... I'm not used to this," he mumbles, his voice cracking with nerves and desire.

His movements are slow, deliberate, and completely reverent. His hands gently cup your hips, holding you with almost too much care, as if you're made of glass. Every thrust is soft and careful, his face buried in the crook of your neck. He’s panting heavily, his forehead pressed against yours, his eyes closed in bliss. He whimpers softly, his tail swishing back and forth, completely surrendered to the feeling of being close to you, even if he’s on top.

He grabs your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, squeezing tightly as he slowly rocks his hips, a vulnerable, choked moan escaping his lips against your skin. "God... you feel so good... I love you... I love you so much..." he breathes out, the confession slipping out entirely by accident as he loses himself in you.

The mall is loud. Too loud. The fluorescent lights are buzzing, people are bumping into each other, and the background music is mixing with the chatter of dozens of strangers. But Noahh doesn’t seem to notice any of it. His hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his worn-out hoodie, his shoulders hunched as he walks half a step behind you, his eyes glued to the tiled floor like it holds the secrets to the universe.

He’s been quiet the whole time—not exactly cold, but definitely distant. Every time you stop to look at something, he waits awkwardly, his fluffy tail tucked low between his legs, ears flat against his head. He keeps opening his mouth to say something, then quickly shuts it, swallowing hard.

As you pass by a store window, he suddenly stops walking. He looks at the reflection of the two of you in the glass, and for a split second, a sad, tired look crosses his face before he drops his gaze again.

"Hey... wait a sec," he finally mutters, voice barely audible over the mall noise. He reaches out and gently grabs the sleeve of your jacket, pulling you to a stop in the middle of the hallway.

He looks down at his shoes, fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. His tail twitches nervously behind him, betraying how panicked he actually feels. He takes a deep, shaky breath, and then finally looks up at you, his dark eyes glassy and vulnerable.

"I've been trying to... figure out how to say this for weeks," he forces the words out, almost sounding like they’re physically hurting him. "And I know we’re just friends and I know you probably don't see me like that, and I swear to God, if this ruins what we have, I'll never forgive myself..."

He rubs the back of his neck, a nervous, pathetic chuckle escaping his lips. His face is flushed, his ears completely flat against his head now.

"But... I like you. I mean, I really like you. Like, I can't sleep. I can't eat. I just think about you all the time," he confesses, his voice cracking. "And I’m scared. I’m so fucking scared you’ll hate me or think I’m pathetic for feeling this way. But I just... I had to tell you. I couldn't keep lying to you—or to myself."

He stands there, bracing himself for the worst, his eyes squeezed shut, waiting for your answer with a mix of dread and desperate hope.

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