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It wasn’t that the Roadrunner hadn’t noticed; it was just that, at first, he was far too little to realize anything like that.
He remembered it as if it were yesterday: not even a week old yet, far too impatient to stay a single second longer in the nest. He had to get out, he had to explore the world unfolding before his tender eyes—those highways stretching as far as the eye could see—and stretch his little legs, which had already gained enough sturdiness. And off he went; the moment Mom put him in his baby walker, he took off running, leaving his imprint on the paths his parents, his parents' parents, and their parents before them had already traveled and scorched before him.
And there was Wile E., still in diapers, the very first creature he encountered on his initial exploration. When he left home, his parents hadn't warned him that creatures like that ate his kind, or at least tried to. Good luck to anyone trying to catch a roadrunner chick! No, there was nothing to fear, and besides, this Wile E. fellow seemed nice. A bit quiet, but that didn't stop him from taking a liking to him. Whenever they crossed paths, Wile E. would show off his spring-loaded toys, his sharp-toothed pets, the impossible structures he had put together...
And then he started playing tag with him.
When he told Mom and Dad about it, Dad looked up from the newspaper and Mom chuckled. Why? Well, you know, kids sometimes do things that... Well, kid stuff, nothing to make a fuss about.
So he just played along without giving it a second thought.
Then came the phase of starting to think all adults were idiots, of spending less and less time in the nest and more on his own before leaving it completely; of feeling clumsy, downright stupid; of his feathers being replaced by more colorful blue ones, leaving him looking hideous midway; of his voice sounding like a broken horn with which he was never going to impress any girl... The insecurities of youth, in fin.
Thank goodness Wile E. was there to distract him. One of the few things that didn't change, thankfully. And it was always a relief to know he wasn't the only one going through such an awkward phase: his loyal friend had hit a growth spurt that had turned him into a lanky, asymmetrical creature with mismatched ears, patches of weird-colored fur all over his muzzle, and, to top it all off, a tripled natural clumsiness that sent him tumbling down cliffs with a frequency as pathetic as it was constant.
Oh, but... what is this? Seeds? There were signs... FREE SEED.
And that handwriting...
Wile E.'s?
This was Wile E.'s idea?
Wait...
Dad had told him about this... Told him about his own experience and given him advice on what females liked best, with the authority of someone who had tried everything with a very demanding woman.
... Could it be...? Nah... Nah, impossible!
But then again...
Before he knew it, he found him at the bottom of a cliff. He went over to check: Hey, pal, did you hurt yourself? Wile E. got up from the crater he’d created and glared right at him. Then he started jumping and stomping, growling and pounding the ground: "¡Raaargh! ¡Seeeesh!".
He bolted out of there to some secluded corner where he could blush to his heart's content and feel his heart hammering against his ribs.
The dance! Coyote had performed the dance!
Well, it was true! Wile E. was...?! So all this time...those little gifts were meant to...? But... But he was hideous, lanky, and completely unworthy of being loved!
During that time, the Coyote could barely be seen, no matter how hard the Roadrunner tried to track him down. He simply hid. He was utterly mortified. At least until that awkward phase passed and he could show off his definitive plumage—beautiful and striking—his 'beep-beep' clear and resonant, and legs that were as sturdy as they could possibly be.
Then he began to weigh the situation coldly, because once you reach a certain age, you have to think about the future.
Let's see, Wile E... Wile E. was a good guy. He had a blast with him. He provided top-tier entertainment, he was smart, resourceful... Objectively speaking, he wasn't bad at all.
Although... there were some big problems...
Oh, but when the chase started, the adrenaline rush was so wild that all his hesitations vanished.
He liked Wile E. He was his buddy...and wasn't getting along one of the most important things to take into consideration?
What the heck. Let's do it!
And that was how he finally gave him his answer.
Wile E. woke up one morning and found a few branches at the entrance of his cave. He frowned, twitching his muzzle, and figuring the desert wind must have blown them over from the only scraggly bush within a three-mile radius, he simply kicked them aside so he wouldn't trip on his way to his daily routine, which was none other than designing deadly traps.
But the next day, the scene was quite different: an entire, neatly organized pile had appeared, almost as if someone had taken the trouble to select them with aesthetic criteria. Wile E. stepped outside, blinking against the morning sun, and looked around suspiciously—checking the surroundings, behind the cactus plants, even under the rocks—but couldn't find a trace of a soul, nor any hidden camera from some prankster documentalist. Somewhat puzzled, scratching the back of his neck with a paw, he muttered under his breath and pushed them aside once more.
And the day after that... the joke, or whatever it was, had gone way too far. It looked like a clandestine firewood depot: he found so many logs and branches completely blocking the cave exit that barely a ray of light filtered through. Huffing with indignation, cursing every living thing he could think of in his internal monologue, he had no choice but to start digging with his claws like a madman, tunneling his way out to poke his head into the open air.
And then he found the culprit.
The Roadrunner had been waiting for him for a while with a crossbow primed to skewer him like a shish kebab the moment he tripped the trap on his way out. It wouldn't be long now; he could already see the dust cloud trailing in the distance. He’d be there in a jiffy... And at last, he’d get to taste those drumsticks.
But then the Roadrunner stopped dead in his tracks millimeters away from the trap. He stared at it. He turned around.
And he came back with a wriggling little snake in his beak. He smacked it against a nearby rock until it stopped moving. He left it at Wile E.'s feet. He stared right at him to gauge his reaction. The reaction was a paralyzing sort of bewilderment. Because it had to be the three o'clock August sun frying his brain, but it looked as though his own food had just gone hunting for him.
Since Wile E. didn't move or do a thing, the Roadrunner vanished again. Before Wile E. could write off the trap as a total failure, the Roadrunner returned. This time he was carrying two more snakes, a lizard, and a mouse screaming: "¡Eh, suéltame!"
He dropped them at his feet and stared at him expectantly once more.
Then he spread his wings and fluttered them gracefully, spinning around in a circle, all the while locking eyes with him.
Okay, this was starting to get weird.
Wile E. held up a finger to ask for a pause, stepped back inside the cave, and pulled out an ornithology encyclopedia. He had never seen anything like this in the survival manuals...
... What.
...Mate?
The Coyote looked up from the book. Those gleaming little eyes... That thrill...That smile...
... Oh, fudge... Don't tell me that all these years... he’d been hitting on the Roadrunner this entire time?!
And had managed to seduce him?!
Blast! How could he have missed that—?!
Wait... He kept reading:
He looked back at him, and the Roadrunner tilted his head slightly, as if impatient for the verdict.
... Was he in love with him...? If so, that was perfect! It meant he had him right in the palm of his hand, and finally, after years of humiliation, he was holding all the cards! He could do whatever he wanted with him: subdue him, trap him, or simply let him simmer in his own trap of misinterpreted affection. Ha! The genius of the desert had won the game!
He tossed the book aside with a triumphant air and opened his arms wide to welcome him, striking a magnanimous pose.
The Roadrunner let out a cheerful 'beep-beep' and lunged at him with such force that he knocked the Coyote flat on his back, kicking up a cloud of dust. The Coyote hugged him (immobilized him..) and carried him triumphantly into his cave. Yes, yes, a honeymoon, of course... a perfect excuse for permanent captivity.
He set him down on the bed (matrimonial bed?) while he went to organize his gear and heat up the stewpot on the stove.
He was interrupted by a sudden touch on his shoulder that made him drop his spoon, which clattered against the floor. What on earth was the bird doing pressed so close against him? Was he pecking him? Giving him little kisses with that sharp tool he called a beak? Alarmed by a potential stealth attack, he frowned and consulted the encyclopedia once more:
Yeah, yeah, whatever... Coyote, having cleared up the matter, went right back to business. Now for a bit of carrot, onion... While he chopped the ingredients, the Roadrunner meticulously searched through his fur with his beak; he found a flea, ate it before continuing the grooming session. It was terribly ticklish and uncomfortable, but... well, at least it was under control and the bird looked thoroughly entertained.
All right, this was ready. Come on, darling, into the pot... err, what about a nice relaxing bath before bedtime to wash off the desert dust?
But the Roadrunner, far from hopping into the pot or the improvised bathtub, peered at it with his beak grazing the edge, let out a short trill, and suddenly bolted out of the cave at full speed, kicking up a small dust cloud that made the Coyote cough.
The Coyote stood with his mouth open, spoon in mid-air, blinking toward the empty tunnel. What was wrong with him now? Had he spotted the trap?
Wile E. arched an eyebrow, checked the encyclopedia again, and read:
Wait a minute! Were they going to keep up the chase routine as a stupid romantic whim? Had he been cast in the role of the passive female? Was he now supposed to handle interior nest decoration, sweep the cave, and raise little coyunners or roadyotes?! No way in hell! Absolutely not! A genius like him did not have time to waste on nonsense like that! He was not going to stand for such a...
Then the Roadrunner zoomed back in and, with a loud splash, dumped an amalgamation of fresh reptiles laced with choice bugs straight into the stewpot. He stared right at Wile E., gave him a quick little peck on the snout, and sprinted off toward the horizon again.
Off to gather more provisions to prove his worth and provide for his new home?
Pfft. What an absurd situation he’d gotten himself into... All for nothing.
Wile E. crossed his arms, growling under his breath, and stared down at the bubbling pot...
... Well, come to think of it... Not entirely for nothing, either.
He served himself a bowl of the roasted reptiles the bird had left as an offering. He took a bite. Hey, it wasn't bad at all. The feathered pest had a good eye for hunting, that couldn't be denied. At least he wouldn't go hungry.
With a full stomach, Wile E. sat down at his workbench and tried to focus on a new blueprint: "Project L.O.V.E." He would use those ridiculous feelings to corner him, trap him... Maybe he could get some fake eggs and tell him it was time to start a family... Explosive eggs! And when the bird sat down to incubate them... He spent late into the night scheming until his eyelids grew heavy. Then he headed to his cot, turned off the light, and went to rest from a promising yet slightly disappointing day—his old routine.
That night, he woke up with a start past midnight, feeling a strange draft. He expected the freezing cold of the cave walls, but to his surprise, the night wasn't cold at all.
It was the Roadrunner, who had returned from...who knew where, to fulfill his duty of guarding his nest and his partner, snuggling right up against him and sharing his body heat, keeping him safe and warm, pressed completely flat against his furry side.
Wile E. opened his eyes in the dark, his heart skipping a beat. It was the perfect moment, the ideal opportunity... He could have grabbed him with a precise swipe and ended years of pursuits and epic fails once and for all...
But... whether because exhaustion won out over anxiety, because the stew had been delicious, because being so cozy in the middle of the freezing and normally lonely cave felt strangely good, or because, as devoid of compassion and shame as he was, he wasn't ungrateful—he decided to do nothing.
He let out a long sigh, closed his eyes, and let himself drift off to sleep, snuggling just a tiny bit closer to him.
Tomorrow, perhaps...
THAT'S ALL, FOLKS!