Morgan wasn't completely sure that Conan was even going to show up. He had left him an unsigned note in his characteristic, compact and slanted handwriting tacked on the outside of his door.

Meet me by the ferris wheel at five. Saturday. Come alone.

He hoped that Conan would recognize his handwriting - he tried to write him at least once every couple of months and somehow always managed to fill the pages full with completely inconsequential things. If someone had asked him, he wouldn't have been able to say why he struggled to keep in contact with the younger werewolf. Maybe because he was a kindred spirit. Maybe because he had had more fun with him on the few, brief encounters that they had than with most of the phoneys that he met in showbiz.

Morgan Walker was actually still a pretty big-name Soap Star, as far as soap opera stars went. His picture was flashed during the opening credits. Occasionally he and his coworkers made a quarter-section page in a tabloid.

He sighed and glanced at his watch, pushing his sunglasses up to reign back his bangs, sliding his fingers uneasily through a mess of tawny hair. Of all the fucking things in the world to get nervous about.

It wasn't that Conan forgot about Morgan. He read all his letters and sometimes even wrote back. He even saved a couple articles he had found in tabloids concerning Morgan, and once had even watched the show before laughing himself silly for a good quarter hour.

But Conan had moved on.

Sure, it wasn't as if he and Morgan had even had anything like a relationship. They fucked a couple of times and were all doggy and territorial around each other, but it had never been a 'let's settle down and have 2.5 puppies' or anything like that.

But Conan would still recognize Morgan anywhere, if just because his face was on tabloids on a regular basis. He had even seen him on a billboard, which tickled him and creeped him out at the same time.

But Conan didn't recognize Morgan's writing, and therefore had a fat can of pepperspray in his pocket. Okay, so, he was a werewolf and all, but there were scarier things out there than him.

He was dressed in black stitchy pants and a white shirt with long checkered sleeves. He still looked like a teenager, since there was something stupidly innocent about his features.

Conan arrived at the ferris wheel at 5:10. And sort of stared at Morgan. Well, okay, he didn't need the pepperspray, it seemed, but this was the last person he was expecting.

It wasn't as if Morgan was clinging to the memory of Conan, or dreaming and thinking wistfully about him every night before bed. He had his own life, too, his own career that was working out so well that he had to hold his breath in fear that it would come crashing down around his ears at any moment, new friends, and more girls (and guys) clamoring for him than he could ever care to worry about.

Conan was just... a good memory, and he wasn't sure he wanted to completely let that go. Not unless he had to, at least, and when Conan stepped into sight, Morgan slid his hands into the pockets of his designer jeans and grinned jaggedly at the other wolf.

"Something wrong?" He asked, his voice as low and sweet as ever. "I can beat it out of here, if that's what you want."

"Oh, I—" What was he supposed to say? Morgan looked as good as ever. He was slightly intimidated. Here was a guy who had life made, right? Sure, he probably wouldn't be a star on a soap opera forever, but it was a start, and a much larger accomplishment than a lot of other actors. Morgan was impressive. Conan, well, Conan was not. He had a fuck-all idea about what he was going to do with his life.

"I wasn't expecting you," Conan admitted after a moment, then offering a shaky smile. "It's been awhile, hasn't it? But I'm glad to see you."

He offered a hand because he didn't quite know what else to do.

"Was in town. Figured I'd drop you a line." Morgan grinned softly at him, trying not to seem unsure. He wasn't used to being unsure. He leaned forward and took Conan's hand, shaking it in a sort of greeting, before pulling it away and jamming it back, uncomfortably, in his pocket.

So maybe this wasn't a great idea. What the hell was he thinking? You weren't supposed to invite old flings to the park to have fun. It was cute when you were sixteen, maybe, but not twenty-six, and the smile he gave Conan in return was a little tired.

"You look like you've been taking care of yourself." His eyes were appraising, but he kept a distance.

Conan wouldn't mind a hug. He, well. He had been intimate with Morgan before, and he really doubted a hug would be that big of a deal, considering what else they had done.

Oh god, was he blushing? Jesus, what was he? Fifteen?

He tried to give Morgan a relaxed smile that failed a bit. "So, how have you been, lately? Shacked up yet?"

Conan himself was in an on-again, off-again relationship at the moment, which was currently off. It wasn't that he didn't like his current boyfriend. The man was nice enough. It was just that, well. Conan had never really been good with relationships.

"You look good." Really good. Too good.

"I look good?" Morgan chuckled out loud, scrubbing his fingers through his hair again and looking toward the line for the ferris wheel. "Yeah. It's kind of my business. I'll be out of a job as soon as I start getting wrinkles." He dropped a low wink at him, then burst into soft laughter, stepping forward and grabbing Conan in his arms, hugging the younger boy tightly to him.

He was warm, and the wolf inside of him didn't howl in anger or indignation.

"I don't think you've changed," he said, his voice right above his ear, and he was grinning again. "You still look like you're twelve. People are going to think I'm a fucking pedophile, and it's your fault."

Well, okay, he was cocky, but Conan supposed Morgan had a right to be.

And then he was being tugged into an embrace, and he fell into the hug probably a little easier than he should have.

"Twelve," Conan huffed, looking up at Morgan with narrow eyes. "I so do not look twelve. I'm mature." Which probably didn't secure his maturity, but oh well. He locked his arms loosely around Morgan's waist, one hand gripping his own wrist. He didn't really want to let go, yet. It was too comfortable. They fit surprisingly well together.

Morgan was way more of an on-again, off-again thing than his current fling. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe if you get all wrinkly, you can just take the place of the soap's villain."

"What are you talking about? I already am the soap's villain. You haven't been keeping up." Morgan was just playing-- didn't seriously expect Conan to keep up with the show. He hadn't seen him in a long, long time, and hell, he barely kept up with the show himself.

He angled his head down, pressing his face into Conan's hair for just a moment, not letting him go just completely. He really wasn't this sentimental. It was just good to be home, good to be with someone the wolf was comfortable with. He reluctantly pulled out of the embrace, but did loop his arm loosely, companionably, around Conan's waist, tugging him toward the line for one of the rides.

"So what's been going on? Seeing anyone? Made any pups?"

He grinned down at him, as if to say, I'm sorry, I know this is awkward.

So he hadn't. Conan blushed a bit and coughed into his hand, allowing the arm to stay around his waist. He even leaned into Morgan's warmth, a bit. Samson would probably explode if he saw this right now, but Conan couldn't really bring himself to care. Being around the other werewolf like this brought nostalgic, pleasant memories. "And you make a very good villain," he said, trying to save face, before cracking a sheepish grin. "At least, I bet you would. With, um. How nefarious you are, and all." Nefarious like a puppy.

"I, well. I have this off and on thing going right now. But it's off right now, so—" Conan shrugged. He really, really didn't care. Samson was fun. They had fun together. There wasn't really anything deeper, there. It was hard to settle down when you were a young, gay, teenage werewolf. "No pups, though. That's physically impossible, anyway."

"Well, you could help make the pups," Morgan amended, settling them at the end of a short line of a twisted, purple-and-yellow ride that spun the passengers side to side and upside down in clumsy little plastic cars. It looked like fun. "And I'm thinking about moving back to Bayfield for a little while."

It was idle banter. Or, well, it was supposed to be idle banter. He wasn't trying to worry Conan- just a statement of fact. Soaps recorded around two episodes a day for six months. Morgan had just finished recording and was free for a while and, well, to be honest, a little burnt out on acting.

It'd feel nice to be home again.

"And I hope he sees us. I'm probably sexier than he is, anyway."

Conan laughed. "Well, yes, except there would have to be a girl involved and, well." He waved a hand in dismissal. Conan was not interested in girls. Before he used to date them and even fell in love with one or two, but after awhile he realized he preferred men. Which was actually a surprising discovery, but one he was fine with.

"You are?" It was hard to keep the surprise out of his voice, and even harder not to sound pleased. Even though he wasn't in a relationship with Morgan anymore, the idea of having the other werewolf so close to him again was a nice one. "That's awesome! Are you taking a break from the whole acting thing?" He didn't know how filming worked and knew absolutely nothing about soap operas. "I'm really glad." He was embarrassed at how shy he sounded.

Conan scoffed a little. "Really. You have no shame. But you are." Unbidden, images of that time in the shopping mall popped into his mind, and he flushed a bit and coughed. Morgan was also much better in bed, but he didn't have to know that.