Just Ask, pt 2

A story by Bariki

Liu shook his head, his cheeks flushing as he stacked the last clean, dry bowl back into place. Don’t be silly he told himself. As if a foreigner like that is going to be interested in a rabbit who works in a noodle bar. He went over to the large pot of green tea that was kept full throughout the day, and filled a small kettle from it. Pushing through the swing door back into the restaurant, Liu glanced quickly to the corner and felt his heart jump as he saw that the horse was still there, now finished with his food and flipping through a small book. Liu made his way politely among the tables, topping up cups as he went, stealing a glance back to the corner every now and then. As he turned to go back to the kitchen, a large bull suddenly pushed back his chair into the small rabbit. He fell hard, hitting the tiled floor and crying out in pain as his small kettle hit the floor with him, spilling hot tea out over the tiles.

“Diu ne!” the bull snorted, scowling down at Liu, showing no emotion but irritation towards the rabbit as he left the restaurant. Liu tried to sit up but whimpered as pain shot through his leg and arm. Get up, he told himself; you’re making a scene. Tears welled up in his eyes, the regular customers ignoring Liu as he forced himself to sit up, turning to reach for the kettle that had scattered off across the floor. A shadow loomed over him, and inwardly Liu cringed – the owner must have heard the commotion.

The voice was soft and calm, the warmth of the concern it conveyed surprising Liu, who had expected something quite different. He looked up to see the black horse standing over him, paw outstretched to help him up. Slowly, Liu reached up to him and felt warm, strong fingers wrap around his paw. He rose up, wincing as he bore his own weight, and would have fallen but for the strong arms of the horse. Liu’s head rested against that broad equine chest, nostrils quivering in a mix of embarrassment and contentment.

“I… I…” Liu began, but he trailed off. Those strong arms squeezed Liu ever so tenderly against the equine’s warm body that whatever words he had been about to say evaporated like steam from hot tea. Liu looked up to see the horse smiling, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement. A soft gasp escaped Liu, all thoughts of work, of the other patrons, of anything but the comfort now surrounding him simply dropping away. One of Liu’s paws instinctively reached to touch the horse’s side, but stopped as he spoke again.

“You know,” he said quietly, giving a gentle nuzzle to Liu’s ears, “if you wanted to meet me this badly, you should have just asked…”