note: I had to write this on wordpad so there was no spellcheck, I apologize for any errors prior.

Softly

If there was one thing you wouldn't have called Courtney at any point in time, it was gentle. She didn't have that frailty that your mother had, and she didn't seem sensitive to almost anything like some of the girls you had dated before.

You teased her, but she never actually got upset by it. To be upset by something was much too out of Courtney's way, a waste of time, a waste of her talent and effort. She could be doing something so much more useful with her time that worrying about silly, stupid things like you.

So you wouldn't call her gentle.

It was funny then, how she pet that damned raccoon with the slightest touch. She was the one that had coaxed it out of the alley that night. You would admit that it had looked pretty goddamn pitiful- a plastic can holder around it's neck, a limp probably from the wild dogs in the area, the look an animal can only have when it has lost trust in every thing and will forever bite anything that comes near it.

"Jesus, Princess, leave it be. Fuckin' thing probably has all different kinds of shit, malaria, rabies, the black plague all rolled up into one dirty as shit package."

She doesn't respond to you because she is too busy offering the thing food from the doggy bag you had asked for from the restaurant you just went to. "Pretty sure the racoon doesn't want any baby back ribs."

Of course, you're wrong and the thing is so ridiculously carnivorous it creeps you out a bit. What shocks you more, however, is when Courtney finally holds the thing in her arms and you realize you've never seen her be so quiet and just... you don't know, soft, with something.

You both go to the emergency animal center and even the lady at the reception desk is disgusted by the sight of the racoon, but not Courtney. She keeps smiling at it, this kind, totally unlike her smile and you wonder if she already caught one of the diseases from it.

They get the thing cleaned up and Courtney names it Brittany and somehow, don't even ask, you agree to take the damn thing home. In the next two weeks she buys all kinds of things for the little fucker, Brittany, which she allowed you to name though you thought she would detect your sarcasm when you made the suggestion.

The name stuck, however, and you were in turn stuck with the little turd of an animal. Why the hell couldn't you have just gotten a damn dog?

One day, however, the thing comes and sits on your lap. You don't really know what to do; in your mind, the racoon has been 'my girlfriend's pet' and therefore you had nothing to do with the fucker.

But there it is, wrapping it's tail around your torso, rubbing against your chest like a kitten or something.

You (reluctantly) bring down a hand and touch the top of it's head. Surprisingly, Brittany leans into the touch and make a very satisfied noise. You aren't sure if it could be called a purr, but it's something that makes your expression soften.

"I'm glad to see you two are getting along finally." She's fresh out of the shower, towel wrapped around her head and the robe you bought her the other day around her torso.

Courtney sits beside you and leans her head on your shoulder, smiling down at the small animal. She's soft beside you, the robe, and her smell, and just her presence, you think.

She brings a hand to the back of your head and cards her fingers through your hair. "Soft," she says, quietly.

Gentle wouldn't be the first word you used to describe her, because these moments were for you and you only.

The racoon rubs itself against Courtney's robe and makes that weird purring noise again, and she obligingly takes the gentle touch away from you and puts her focus on that damned animal instead. No, you're definitely not jealous in the slightest.

The moments are for you and Brittany, you suppose. But mostly you.