[i]"What time do you think you're going to be back tonight?"[/i]

Goddammit, Ryan knew he was going to ask that question. And the worst part was, he heard the change in Michael's voice on the other side of the phone when he asked it. The upbeat chattery voice he'd had a moment ago when discussing his latest art project at the Community College was gone. Ryan could see him now, his face tinged with paint, tanned skin smudged with red and white and blue, pacing in front of a canvas barefoot and shirtless while he stood on a white sheet in their loft. Now Michael sounded like he was treading eggshells. Or broken glass. 

Ryan had to take a very loud pull on his cigarette to buy himself a moment to think. The Monthly Pack meetings were a necessity. Not just because of his status as a Beta, but it was a condition for his moving in with Michael. Bad enough he felt like he'd abandoned one family to start another, but Michael was definitely suspicious about the "fishing trips" he went on every month.

"I, ah, won't be back until morning," Ryan said cautiously. "Group meeting, you know? We're going down to the river to catch trout."

Silence.

[i]"Right,"[/i] Michael said. [i]"Trout."[/i]

"Or whatever we can catch. Fish is fish." Please don't get pissed. Please don't get pissed!

[i]"Whatever. Call me when you get back. I'll probly be over in Portside getting my gallery showing set up."[/i]

Click.

'I'll be there for the gallery!' was on the tip of Ryan's tongue when Michael hung up.

But that was that. Ryan shut his phone down, tossed the cigarette against the back wall of the building, and shuffled back inside through the kitchen. He wanted to hit someone. Something. He couldn't help feeling pissed at Michael for not giving him one night a month to be himself. At the same time, he was completely pissed at himself for not telling Michael the truth. It wasn't a guarantee that Michael would run for the hills screaming if he knew Ryan was one level above an "extreme closet Furry" as he'd once put it. But it WAS a guarantee that he'd be forced into their club if he found out what Ryan moonlighted as.

There was no dancing around that fine line. So Ryan kept lying to Michael about fishing trips, despite never buying a pole or tackle ever ("The club has extras, so why spend the money?") and always bringing home stuff from the Market ("No bights last night, babe. But I'll make you dinner!") The whole reason Ryan kept lying to Michael was to give himself a taste of the real world. What his life might have been like if Topeka hadn't happened. He was getting the full package of human relationships now- especially the "lying to one's spouse about some deep dark secret" thing.

At the bar, Michael spotted Stephen hiding in the corner and instinctively poured him a cold PBR, sliding it to one of the servers to send his way.

When Anton showed up and asked for her Fireside Flamers, Ryan had to roll his eyes. He popped open a bottle of California red, then opened an underside fridge where he kept "the good stuff" chilled. The bottle of vodka he pulled out was on special order for Anton A.) because it was $70 a bottle and B.) because she was the only person in this state crazy enough to drink it. All the other vodkas he kept were way too weak in her opinion, and she'd let Ryan know. "Anton, you know this stuff is practically jet fuel, yeah?"