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He thought he'd feel this way about the big Four Oh, but Buster wasn't quite sure why it took three more years for it to catch up with him. The stress, the anxiety. Fear of the future. Was he middle-aged?
Was half of his life over already?
Buster Moon clambered up the stool at the bar. As a chronically distressed koala, he didn't appear all that different today. On the inside, he was a damn mess. There was a surprise party waiting for him back at the theater, or at least it would have been a surprise if he hadn't overheard his theater troupe planning it. Someone needed to let Meena know her voice carried when she wasn't shy. Not that he could fault her; Porsha was pretty loud in her own right. That secret was never going to keep.
With that knowledge, Buster made a choice. He was going to stop by the bar, knock back a drink or two, and wallow in despair for around half an hour. Then he'd suck it up, walk into that theater with the best shocked face he could muster, and allow his theater family to celebrate him.
"Is this where you really want to be today, Moon?"
The wooden bar top was so polished Buster could see the reflection of the polar bear in his trademark Hawaiian shirt. He looked up, eyes sinking with self-pity, to find the bear's hulking figure cleaning out a glass, silhouetted by the neon sign above. There was a glint of concern behind the bear's gaze.
"For now," Buster replied. "A Whiskey Sour, Harry."
He knew Harry was right, but he had no intention of letting anyone else see him like this. He needed to untangle some emotional knots and digest why he was this torn up, and a drink would help with that.
Maybe it was all the little things that came with age. Every day was a chance to wake up with new aches and pains. His wrist was bothering him all day and he couldn't figure out the cause. Then there were the silver strands of fur, once a curiosity but now starting to multiply into noticeable swaths. Not to mention the pangs of sad nostalgia occasionally rippling through his diminutive form watching cast members half his age and remembering when he had so much future to look forward to, so much potential left to bloom.
Or maybe it was the bigger things that defined his life. He spent years—decades—chasing a dream that didn't chase him back. He was living it now, but he did find himself wondering now and then where all those years had gone. And then there was the extra emphasis put on the "family" portion of his theater family whenever he mentioned them. He had no biological family of his own to speak of. His mother was gone before he ever knew her. His father died without getting the chance to enjoy retirement. Buster struggled to describe any relationship he'd been in as successful, and he had no children to speak of. He was thankful for his found family, but there was that little voice in the back of his head telling him he was desperate to validate his current situation.
But most likely it was the elephant in the room—decidedly not Meena. There are only so many times one can stare death in the face before it takes its toll. Most recently, Jimmy Crystal tried to splatter him from a high place twice. He'd made several poor, brash decisions that enraged the mogul into violence. Truthfully, if Crystal hadn't gone off the deep end, Buster's career might've been in shambles. It was much easier to deflect blame against the person that escalated the situation to attempted murder.
His theater collapsing was a bit different. That house of cards scheme was all him, and he nearly took himself out along with everyone else inside the Moon Theater. At least with Crystal, he was the only one in immediate danger. But they say all's well that ends well; everyone was fine, and he accomplished what he set out to do, so why dwell on a near-death experience or three?
"Thanks," Buster said once Harry slid the amber concoction in front of him. He barely took a sip when a foreboding whistle drifted through the bar, slinking into his ears and crawling down his spine like a dozen tiny spiders. Buster tensed up to suppress a shudder. Then came a voice from the barstool next to him, rough and jagged but paved like a mountain road.
"I'll have what he's having."
Buster's fur stood on end the instant the wolf filled his sights. He never saw him come in... was he always there?
Harry put together another Whisky Sour notably faster than he did for Buster, gingerly pushing it toward the wolf while eyeing the stranger uneasily. The wolf tipped the glass in thanks and Harry took that as his cue to put some distance between them, making his way down the opposite end of the bar top. Removing the hood of his black, cloak-like poncho, the wolf took a sip, his blistering eyes glancing toward the koala.
"Holy moly! Your eyes are so red!" Buster blurted out, then slapped his hands over his mouth like a child caught swearing. "I'm sorry, it was rude of me to point that out."
"You're not wrong," the wolf responded with a playful grin.
Buster kept his eyes firmly on his drink as he ran hot with embarrassment. He reached for the glass but stopped to massage his aching wrist.
"The pain is a reminder that you're alive," said the wolf.
Curiosity piqued, Buster swiveled on the barstool to face his intimidating neighbor. It was probably stupid to engage with him, to pry into the feeling that this stranger wasn't a complete stranger after all.
"Do we... know each other?
"I know you very well, Luna."
"It's... it's Moon," Buster said, brows furrowed. "I feel like I'd remember you."
"Let me refresh your memory. When your lungs filled with water and your theater collapsed around you, I was there. When you went freefalling toward the stage after your nemesis took his revenge on you, I was there."
The wolf recounted in amusement as Buster's face twisted and turned in various shades of disbelief. The koala recovered and pointed at him while saying, "Those were public incidents! How do I know you're not just some weirdo that looked me up on the internet?"
"When the riptide pulled you further away from the white sands of Opal Bay, I was there."
What overcame Buster was less a flashback and more a living memory. His lungs were burning, denied precious oxygen until he gave in. Now they were swelling with water while his father's panicked voice competed with the sea lapping and barreling into his ears as the tide hurtled him out of the inlet. The barstool wobbled under his weight as he recoiled from a fall back down a thirty-year-old well of trauma.
"That's when I almost drowned," he murmured to himself.
The wolf chuckled, the rumble in his chest like an approaching storm. "Almost?"
"So, you're saying... I actually drowned? Like, I was dead? Dead dead?"
"As a doornail," the wolf said, polishing off his drink. Harry had another Whiskey Sour waiting for him before his empty glass ever touched the wood. "Look at that. I like the service here."
"Who are you?"
"You already know."
He did. And he didn't need to see the neon glint of the holstered sickle to confirm it.
Ever since the wolf appeared, there was an incomparable aura, a thick miasma enveloping the bar. It gushed out of the wolf like a hurricane trapped in a vessel that could barely contain it. Every corner of the bar was choked with his presence. Every passing moment left the air charged with a lingering threat.
"How am I alive now?"
"Papá went to great lengths. Unspeakable lengths. Gave up his twilight years for you, with a little added protection. I don't normally make deals, but I got a soft spot for kids." He held a furred digit up to his lips. "Don't tell."
"Wait, if you're here... does that mean... this is my last birthday? Did you come here to collect? Last words with a dead man?" The koala's fluffy ears sagged under the weight of despair. "It can't end like this! My theater family, someone has to take care of them, let them know what happened! Do I just keel over, or do you have to... you know... kccch!" He ran a finger across his throat. "Just let it be open casket, okay?"
"Dramático," the wolf said with the shake of his head. "I came here with a warning."
"A warning?"
"Papá's protection deal ran out." He leaned forward, his long snout puncturing the thin veil of personal space. "I'm hands off from now on."
Buster tugged at his bow tie. "That's, uh... kind of nice of you to tell me."
"Not really. I have this thing, just a little pet peeve that drives me loco. It's arrogance. From the living. Arrogance in the face of Death. A certain gato learned that the hard way. I hope you're a little smarter."
"I'm... I'm not arrogant..."
Brow quirked, something annoyed yet amused playing at his lips, the wolf said, "You consistently create situations that put yourself and everyone around you in mortal danger, mortal danger that you treat like a minor annoyance at best. Then you walk away without a scratch like it was preordained and natural that everything would work out for you. Unless you believe a pig with acrophobia and zero wirework experience perfectly catching you in midair was a natural occurrence."
Buster wanted to argue back, defend himself, explain how those catastrophic turn of events were unfair roadblocks to his dream. He bit his tongue after peering into those radiating spheres of crimson and black. They dared him to fight back. To prove how arrogant and entitled he really was. They'd jump at the opportunity to call him a liar.
Because he was.
"Clean up your act, Luna. Find a better way to get what you want or... you'll be seeing me again real soon."
Buster refused eye contact and nearly flinched when he heard the clatter of ice when the wolf's glass thumped the bar top. What Buster felt next was a sharp whisper that tunneled through one ear and out the other.
"What's the point of a dream if you don't live to see it through?"
With a phantom gust and the flap of a cloak, the koala was alone once more.
Harry was wary and deliberate in his return, peering around the bar. "That wolf gave me the creeps. Who was that?"
"Someone giving me a little perspective, I guess," Buster admitted.
Harry eyed the glass. "You need a another?"
"No, I found what I was looking for and it's not that." Buster left his money on the bar top and hopped off the stool. He adjusted his suit jacket and bow tie. "I was so busy agonizing over where my life is and how I got here that I forgot I have a life, and a pretty great one at that!"
Buster left the bar and was awash with the glow of twilight, boasting a genuine smile on his face. He had a surprise birthday party to get to, and no one would be celebrating his special day more than him.
Sometimes, all it takes is a little chat with Death to raise one's spirits.