Briggan awoke. He felt a bit damp in the face, so he wiped it to see what it was. Tears.
He'd been crying in his sleep.
Odd, he thought. I don't feel sad... In fact, I feel amazing. Why would I be crying. Also... What was I dreaming about last night that was intense enough to get me to cry?
When Briggan tried to recall last night's dream, all he picked up from it was the sensation that it was of something that has yet to transpire.
A premonition? Eh, not likely.
Briggan felt something lightly tighten around his stomach, and he smiled.
"Good morning, my love." Briggan said, recognizing his lover's hold.
"Morning," came the groggy greeting from the still half-asleep Mastace.
Briggan shifted himself in Mastace's arms so that they now were facing each other.
"How'd you sleep, honey?" Briggan planted a gentle kiss on the lion's muzzle.
"Fine. Still kinda-" Mastace stopped when he noticed the dampness of Briggan's cheeks. "Hon, what's wrong? Why have you been crying?"
"I don't know. I was asleep when I did it and I'm... not entirely sure that I was sad when I cried."
"Good dream?"
"Wish I could remember."
"Ah, so it was that kind of deal then. Whelp, I'm gonna go on and make breakfast." Mastace separated from the snuggle and went to get up, but Briggan sat up and stopped him faster.
"Wait."
Mastace turned and looked at him, a brow raised. "Wassup honey?"
"Let me make breakfast this morning. You've been doing a lot of the work around here lately, and I want to make up for that."
Mastace regarded his wolf for a few silent moments, then gave a light, warm smile. "Alright darling, if you want to start cooking some then I am perfectly okay with that."
Briggan grinned in return. "Thanks babe. Now go get showered while I go and see what we have so I can plan out our breakfast."
Mastace nodded, then got up and headed to the bathroom while Briggan rummaged through the kitchen to take inventory and brainstorm.
Mastace stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist to cover himself, and made his way to the kitchen where Briggan was sorting out through some stuff in the cabinets.
"Finding everything okay?"
"Yeah, but we're out of a few of the essentials. Once I've had my shower, I'm going to head into town and get them."
"Ah, alright. Want me to go with you?"
"Probably so. It'd be nice to not have to carry all the groceries the entire way."
"Sounds like a plan then. I'll wait for you."
"Thank you."
Briggan walked down the street with Mastace's paw in his own. He found it comforting despite the risk of being judged. He came to discover most furs really didn't care whether he was straight, bisexual or gay. There were individuals who did and wanted to give him hell for it, but the general consensus regarding Briggan's relationships was that it wasn't important enough to make a fuss about, and that suited him just fine; he'd deal with the haters when the time came.
As the pair sauntered down the street, bundled up in their coats and such, a nauseating sensation overcame Briggan and flooded him with an uneasy sense of dread. His paws began to shake and his legs felt gelatinous. He felt himself beginning to tremble mightily as panic set in. Voices spoke to him, yet he knew not of their origins.
"I can't believe you would do something like this to me! I thought you guys were my family!"
"We didn't know what to do, I'm sorry! We didn't mean for this to happen, I swear!"
"You knew this wasn't the right way! You knew it! And you still did it anyway!"
"I-"
"No! I'm done listening to this, I don't want your excuses and I don't want your damned sympathy!"
Briggan lost all sense of everything, and his vision blackened. He knew nothing of what happened after, both in the real world, and the one his mind had just fabricated.
Briggan came back to, sitting on the living room couch. The side of his face was propped up by his lower arm and he sat cross-legged. His eyes were already open for some reason, it just felt like he snapped back into reality.
"Huh, what? How the hell did I get here?"
"You don't remember? We went to the store, got what you needed, came back, and you cooked breakfast. It was pretty damn great, I'd have to say."
"I don't," Briggan admitted.
"You don't remember the four hours we spent cuddling either? You were pretty adamant about being snuggled."
"Sorry, no. I don't remember."
"So, you were spaced way the fuck out for five and a half hours? Are you feeling okay?"
Briggan shook his head. The last thing he could recall was hearing some sort of arguing. What it was about was beyond him. It then occured to him that everyone was either inside or out of earshot, and therefore unable to hear the bickering, and so... be heard.
The weight of the experience sank in as he only came to one conclusion.
"Babe... I need help,"