Knew What He Was (short story)
Stonefern sat, waiting for his father to finish playing–or perhaps fighting–with Doverose. The two toms were pulling on opposite sides of a stick, tails waving like dogs. He would wonder who would win if he weren’t so anxious, instead shifted his paws until they created dents in the ground beneath them.
It wasn’t too long before the twig snapped, sending both toms flying backward. Stonefern was thankful that they weren’t play-fighting where the ground was messy. He didn’t feel like cleaning the sprayed bits of mud from his white fur.
From his place on the ground, Grousemane could see Stonefern. He grinned at his son before standing up and padding toward him. “Seems that we’ll have to break the tie another time,” Grousemane called to Doverose.
“Not to worry, little Grouse, I love beating you,” Doverose responded, before picking up his half and padding away.
“You saw I almost won,” Grousemane nudged Stonefern.
“Yeah,” Stonefern replied absently.
“Did you stop just to watch, or do you want to play too?”
Stonefern shrugged, but it was tense. “Just wanted to get away for a bit.”
“Ah, that I understand.” Grousemane wrapped his tail around Stonefern and gave his ear a swift lick. “Searching for old pops to rescue you, then?”
“Yeah, pops! Pops, papa. That’s who I am.”
“I prefer ‘dad.’ It’s normal.”
“Do you call all three of us ‘dad’?”
“Right, the happy tone for me and annoyed ones for them.”
“Sure.” Stonefern cracked a smile. The distraction was making him feel better, less constrained. He knew this dad would do that.
“What did you want to get away from, anyway? If you ask me, that Birchhawk would make far better company. Aren’t you too friends? Or were you friends?”
The smile dissipated, and Stonefern’s paws began working into the ground again.
“Hey, hey, slow down!” Grousemane moved to still Stonefern’s paws with his own. “Talk to me. Did Birchhawk say something?”
Stonefern wanted to growl in frustration, or perhaps just run, but he couldn’t do that with his dad. It would stir more questions than answers. He wanted to get away from thinking about Birchhawk. He didn’t want to have to talk about it, not so soon, but at the same time he knew that he had to face the fact now, and really, sooner was better than later. “Birchhawk….told me he liked me,” he admitted through gritted teeth.
Grousemane tilted his head. “But you have to let him down?”
“Not just him!” Stonefern’s tail whipped. “Everyone who might confess. But I don’t want to hurt them….and what if Birchhawk doesn’t want to be friends anymore?”
“Not be friends with you?” Grousemane sounded shocked. “Of course he would, no matter what you say!” Then, pausing, he asked, “why everyone?”
“Because it’s….” Stonefern searched for the right words to say. “It just…It doesn’t feel right for me.”
Grousemane gave him a questioning look.
“Being mates,” he clarified.
“Ah!” Grousemane nodded in understanding. “That’s not uncommon. I think it’s called aromanticism.”
Stonefern pricked his ears. “It has a name?” He had thought he was just weird.
“Yep, cats who aren’t interested in relationships. And then there’s ‘asexual,’ cats who’re not into the physical stuff–”
“Okay, gross!” Stonefern stuck out his tongue. Grousemane chuckled at him, and Stonefern was surprised to realize that his smile had returned. But again, it faltered. “What if Birchhawk doesn’t understand? Or he doesn’t want to be around someone he can’t be with and leaves?”
Grousemane nuzzled Stonefern’s cheek. “If you tell him who you are, and he leaves, he wasn’t worth being with in the first place.”
“But he’s fun,” Stonefern sighed. “I don’t want to hurt him, and….I don’t want him to think I’m weird.”
Grousemane licked his ear again, then the space between them. “What did you say before you came running for me?”
“That I needed to think about it. He looked sad.”
Grousemane’s muzzle twisted, as though the words he wanted to say were somewhere in his mouth and he had to find them. He let out a heavy breath. “You’re ‘decapitated-head dad’ is better at this whole talking deal, strangely enough.”
Stonefern was going to point out that he hadn’t wanted to talk but to get away from having to, but he didn’t want his father to feel like he didn’t want him. “You flirt with everyone, I figured you would know a thing or two about rejection,” he joked.
“I’m a flirt,” Grousemane replied, “it’s fun. But it’s only fun, Myrtlewing’s the only one I need.”
Stonefern looked down. “What if Birchhawk feels that way about me? And I let him down, and he has no one?”
Grousemane placed his paw beneath Stonefern’s chin and raised it so that he looked into the younger cat’s eyes. “Stop spiraling. You don’t even know what he will say. If it’s bad, he has an eternity to get over it.”
Stonerfern thought about that, then thought about an eternity without his close friend.
“Stop thinking,” Grousemane told him, standing up and pushing Stonefern to do the same. “No point wondering what will happen. You have to tell him at some point. Want me to come with you?”
Stonefern shook his head. He was still nervous–incredibly nervous–about having to let Birchhawk down. At the same time, he knew now what he was, who he was, and that he wasn’t weird at all for it. “I’ll tell him tomorrow,” he decided before his nerves got the better of him. “I haven’t seen my younger brothers and sisters in a while.”
Grousemane grinned. “Well, let’s go see them!” He led the way to the Eye-out thorns. Stonefern followed. Even as the ground shifted to mud that sucked at his fur and weighed him down, he felt light.
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–Doverose is tall and chunky, so I imagine he calls lots of cats ‘little.’
–Birchhawk is a random name I came up with, do with him what you want!
–Fun fact! I myself am also aroace! Stonefern’s experience isn’t based on my own, though.
