Despite the late-night walk, Ellie was still overjoyed to go along on Trevor’s early morning jog with him. Jogging was another thing Trevor had discovered he was into during lockdown, though it might have been because it got him out of the house. This morning it wasn’t much of a jog, but some days were more about being outside than exercising.
There was no truck in G.G.’s driveway but it could have been in the garage. G.G. had built that garage himself, according to Trevor’s grandmother. Trevor hadn’t considered that much before but was now imagining grisly saw or drill accidents to explain whatever G.G. had done to his hand, if G.G. was that into construction and building things. He really shouldn’t do dangerous work alone. Not that G.G. would care about Trevor’s opinion.
But at the very least, G.G. ought to have to an emergency contact he could call to come take him to the hospital or to watch his cat. Or to inform if he was about to pass out from blood loss in his… tool shed or wherever he must work.
His backyard, most likely. Trevor had heard the distant sounds of electric tools from time to time but now he was going to be on alert for them. Which was a problem. G.G. was not Trevor’s to look out for. G.G. was his fantasy, or part of one. That was all.
Trevor went through the rest of his morning following the usual routines, filling in his grandma about G.G. over breakfast after a brief discussion of some small family drama going on over social media that Trevor made a mental note to look into before his grandmother could get roped into it. She offered no information on G.G.’s cats or cat, and didn’t explain how it had come about that she had G.G.’s spare house key. Trevor briefly wondered if G.G. had a copy of hers as well. Plenty in the family already did, but maybe after his grandpa had died and no one in the family had been staying with her, his grandma had asked G.G. to hold onto it just in case. Maybe they’d bonded in a prickly but lonely independent spirit sort of way.
Trevor had feelings about that, which he sat with while he and his grandmother worked in the garden during the cooler hours before noon. Then he went out front to consider G.G.’s house, quiet and unassuming, the garage door firmly closed and revealing no secrets.
He came back in to ask his grandma for the key and found her engrossed in her large-print book of sudoku and a strange key waiting for him on the kitchen counter.
He gave his grandmother a suspicious look, waved for Ellie to stay since he didn’t know if G.G.’s cat was okay with dogs but guessed not, then left the house.
He had no idea who the lot of wild grasses between their houses belonged to, although he or G.G. were the ones who ended up mowing it; Trevor, to keep the ticks away, G.G., maybe because he was bored. If the developer had intended to put a house there, they never had. Whatever the situation, the sidewalk didn’t have a dip in it for a driveway, and the fence around G.G.’s backyard seemed to indicate the grass wasn’t his.
G.G. must have repaved his driveway when he’d built the detached garage, but he hadn’t expanded his yard. The front was still stunted grass and a few bushes by the corner of the house that had probably been planted by the home’s original owner.
His front door was in a covered porch that only rose a single step, and had panels of wavy glass on the top half of the door that seemed like they should have been see-through, but weren’t. If G.G. had security cameras in place, Trevor didn’t see them. It would be a boring livestream, on this street.
Trevor knocked, waited, then knocked again a bit louder to make sure he wasn’t intruding before he used the key.
The entryway made him pause. Wallpaper and wood, with a shining hardwood floor. The wallpaper was green and gold and the entryway led forward to a staircase and small hallway, with a living room on one side and a dining room on the other.
Trevor shut the door in case of darting cats and then stepped closer to the living room. It was carpeted, newish carpeting that had not suffered countless children running across it for decades. The living room walls were an elegant gray, the furniture was anything but. The places that were not the wide, curtained window facing the court or the gray walls were filled with built-in bookshelves and one incredible cat tree in the corner.
That had not been found in a store. It looked like a carved tree, complete with some fake green leaves, except for the cushioned places for cats to sit. One “branch” of the tree extended over one end of the green couch, obviously intended as a sunny cat perch though no cat could be seen. The couch was a well-stuffed one, with bright throw pillows that brought even more light and color into the room.
A fireplace near the center of the room was the last remnant of the room’s original 1960’s or ‘70’s décor, if Trevor had to guess. A marble façade had been added but the bricks inside it looked spotless so the fireplace must never be used. A large TV hung above the fireplace. A cushy, upholstered chair with a deep purple—purple!—velvet ottoman faced the TV and fireplace. It was the only place in the room besides one spot on the couch that seemed well-used.
Trevor turned sharply in the other direction, ignoring the open doorway at one end of the living room and only briefly peering down the short hall under the stairs. He didn’t go up the stairs. He passed through the dining room, which was dusty and looked not-quite finished. The floors were done, but the beige walls didn’t match the tone of the entrance or the living room. Someone had marked up part of the highest wall, the one facing the street, with lines and numbers in chalk or pencil. There were more marks on the wall by a swinging door. Measurements for a project only recently begun, he assumed.
A swinging door took him to the kitchen. The kitchen also didn’t match the other rooms, with what was likely vintage linoleum on the floors and all of the counters except the island, which looked new and was topped with marble. In the kitchen, Trevor at least found the cat bowl and water fountain, both tucked away underneath a small dining nook on one side. Still no sign of the cat. It was probably hiding.
Another door led out of the kitchen, with panels of simple glass covered by another oddly-out-of-place curtain. Faded, comical chickens did not seem to go with the elegant, yet bright scheme elsewhere in the house, though they were cute in a farmhouse chic sort of way.
He unlocked that door and stepped out into the backyard… one side of the backyard, anyway. Awnings had been put up to provide shade and cover from any rain. Chairs and a long table were stacked in the corner. On the other side of the door, startling him a little when he turned around, was a large, screened enclosure that it took Trevor several moments to identify as a catio and not a strange tent.
The catio had another cat tree in it. This tree looked more store-bought although the catio itself did not. Trevor huffed. “Big nerd.” The softness in his tone made him look away, although once again, no cats were around to judge him.
A worn path in the grass led around the corner of the house. Trevor suspected any work sheds would be in that direction. The rest of the yard that he could see was like the front yard: plain, untended grass. He sighed but stepped back into the house.
The cat food was in a container next to the bowl and thankfully had a scoop inside so Trevor could guess the portion.
“Not even plants in the house,” he commented to himself. “But clearly some pampered kitties. A kitty. Just the one. Sorry.”
He had no idea who he was apologizing to and stood up, giving the kitchen a slightly better examination, which was when he noticed the smears of dried blood around the sink. He went closer to look at the sink itself and inhaled sharply when he found a knife with a cracked handle, two very bloodied dishtowels, and a plate with the makings of an unappetizingly bloodied sandwich on it.
Trevor dug around, found the trash and the compost bin, and disposed of the sandwich pieces. Then he used paper towels to scrub away the blood stains. The dishtowels he had no idea about. At this point, a soaking might not save them. He left them where they were and resolved to ask his grandmother.
The blood around the sink had dried but was not caked on. G.G. had apparently stopped to clean up before going to the ER—while bleeding enough to know he needed stitches. That gave Trevor feelings he’d have to sit with as well, much like the look of the rest of the house. He was almost surprised he hadn’t seen any stained glass around that living room, but then, he hadn’t seen the rest of the house. Maybe that was the plan for the wall in the dining room.
He checked the cat’s water, which was clean; Tammy stuck his dirty litter box paws in his constantly. There was plenty of dry food available if Trevor had to come back. With nothing else to keep him here, he washed his hands to prepare to leave.
A faint collar jingle stopped him. Then he waited, almost breathless, until an impossibly fluffy white cat batted and pushed open the swinging door from the dining room and trotted into the kitchen. The fluffball froze when it saw Trevor. A streak of gray went down its nose between its amber eyes. The tail twitched, revealing a few more hints of gray.
Trevor crouched down, then extended his arm for a finger sniff, should the cat be so inclined.
The cat was, although it took a few moments to admit it. But cats who had never been mistreated or even mildly inconvenienced in their lives were more trusting than cats who’d had to deal with screaming, excitable children or dramatic life changes. This cat was G.G.’s treasured, pampered angel baby.
The unnamed angel baby allowed only a brief finger sniff and Trevor didn’t risk a scratch by trying to check the name on the collar. He stood up again once it started eating, and said, “Your dad will be home soon, I think,” because soothing words helped most animals.
Then, not wanting to be even more of a weirdo, he left, locking up behind him.
“What am I supposed to do with this information?” Trevor complained through his laptop to Sky, who rolled his eyes without slowing his typing for whatever work he was doing. Probably talking to his coworkers in his workplace group chat. He was responsible even when he was working from home. Of course, he was also in boxers and no shirt and had a Kurosawa film playing on one of his other computer screens.
Sky lived alone yet hadn’t decorated his apartment much. He noticed so much about the world but certain things wouldn’t occur to him unless prompted, like making his home attractive and comfortable. He had shelves of haphazardly stacked books and boxes of board games, a few posters, and artwork Trevor had done for him up in black-and-glass frames with matting that Trevor thought was a waste of money but Sky had had done anyway.
He had a big desk with several monitors for work and for gaming, and a chair designed for maximum comfort while on a computer. He also had a couch but only because Trevor had told him to get one.
“You need a comfy place to rest on sometimes,” Trevor had said, brooking no argument because Sky could afford it and then some, and he needed a home, not only an apartment. “And what if you have company over?”
Sky had given Trevor a knowing look, but a red couch had appeared in his living room a week later. It seemed ridiculous with no other furniture, but more importantly, it looked comfortable. Trevor had ordered Sky some decorative pillows and a blanket as a reward, then told him to get a kitchen table with at least one chair next.
Of course, getting Sky to eat was another thing. He did eat… when he remembered to. And he didn’t cook, which meant a lot of instant noodles were involved.
He had food at the moment, at least. Well, a bag of chips and some sort of smoothie with a delivery receipt stuck to the bottom. Trevor noted the name on the smoothie cup and made a note to see if that restaurant sold gift cards online.
“G.G. definitely either made that stuff himself or paid to have it specially made,” Trevor continued to whine. “What kind of soft nerd? I should think of him as a weird cat lady but I can’t.”
Sky muttered something to himself that his laptop microphone didn’t pick up completely, partially drowned out by Sky’s suddenly ferociously clacky typing, although it sounded like, “Maybe because soft nerds are your type.”
“He adores his cats—cat,” Trevor rolled on, absently sketching Sky’s hands. If the rest of Sky was not in motion, then his hands were. Trevor had had to hold them down more than once before upgrading to cloth bindings and then padded cuffs. He still had those cuffs. He kept meaning to send them up to Sky but it hadn’t happened yet. Sky’s toys were in a box with the rest of Trevor’s stuff and would stay there for now. If Trevor needed cuffs for someone else, he would buy new ones. “He had the best quality stuff for them. I approve.”
“So you said. Several times.” Sky reached over to grab a tablet, shivering slightly as if the air over his bare skin was cold.
“You need a sweater or a shirt,” Trevor said quietly. Or to turn up the heat, but that would involve getting out of his chair. Sky still had not adjusted to the cooler climate of his new home, always expecting to feel hot in his clothes and then being surprised that his apartment was actually freezing.
Sky paused. Trevor took advantage of his brief stillness to study him better: the short but elaborately styled pouf of blue hair above an undercut. Wide, wire-framed glasses falling down his snub nose. Bitten, brown lips with some purple smoothie at one corner. Bags beneath eyes the color of espresso beans. Goosebumps along chubby upper arms. Tight nipples. Scars from top surgery below a healthy patch of hair.
Trevor dragged his gaze back up. “And sleep,” he added critically. “But put on a shirt or something first. Do you have a blanket nearby?”
Sky shivered and typed faster until he must have finished whatever he’d been composing. Then he reached down for a zippered sweatshirt that had fallen to the floor and slipped it over his shoulders.
Trevor dropped his attention to his sketchbook and Sky went back to typing.
“So,” Sky began evenly as if they hadn’t been interrupted by Trevor being pushy. “The hot neighbor who bled on your porch has a cat and you are just now realizing you have a problem.”
“I have no idea what his name is.” Trevor was possibly whining again. “The whole thing is weird.”
Sky frowned a little and stopped typing long enough to scratch his slight stubble. “I’m confused,” he said. “More explanation please?”
“The guy next door,” Trevor explained as requested even though he’d already said this. “Asked us to check on his cat. I don’t know his name, only his initials. I went in his house. He’s got a million books, mostly paperbacks, and none of them looked like fantasy, at least not from where I was. Though there might be some sci-fi.” He perked up at the thought, then shook his head. That was more Sky’s area anyway. “The room was gray but a good gray. And purple! And green! Excellent color sense until the beige walls and the old linoleum… and the blood.” Rusty and turning brown except for the mess in the sink, which had still been wet in places. “He tried to clean up his blood before going to the hospital. He thought of his cat first, Sky. He should have someone to call on.”
“Ah.” Sky didn’t volunteer anything else for several strangely tense moments. “I got the paints you sent me. You know I make a ton now, right? But thank you. They’re exactly what I need.”
Sky, with his big brain, was saying something by mentioning the paints.
He did make a lot more money than Trevor. He made more than Trevor’s brother, who was a lawyer, even if no one looking at Sky’s apartment would have guessed that Sky had bank. But Sky was a genius who was great at his job and, shockingly, the company he worked for paid him accordingly.
“Well, you’re in your apartment all the time, and you get bored, and you always have miniatures to paint.” Trevor tapped his pencil against his sketchpad. He’d also sent Sky some boxes of tea but clearly should have sent food. “Is that smoothie all you’ve had today?”
“See?” Sky asked, glancing to the screen that held Trevor’s face. “You know me and you can still be pushy—generous. In fact, it only made you pushier, knowing me. You can’t help it. It’s the same with your hot, older neighbor with his tasteful living room, or will be, providing he doesn’t object.” Sky turned away again, back to the tablet, although he wasn’t typing anything. “It’s about time you had someone for that. Probably. I don’t know.”
“I haven’t been pushy with him.” Trevor narrowed his eyes. “We’ve barely spoken. And he’s at least a decade older than me.”
Sky dismissed that point, hands in motion again. “Irrelevant to this discussion.”
“A decade older with a home, and skills, and probably money and a career. So I doubt he would tolerate it if I did get pushy,” Trevor continued despite not liking that word. “Horny artist who has nothing big to his name who lives with his grandmother. Nothing to respect there. No reason to allow any… pushiness. Not that it was my plan to even try. It’s stupid that I’m bothered.”
Sky nudged his glasses up with an unconsciously elegant gesture. Trevor would have sketched it if he hadn’t already done that at least a dozen times.
“You have a lot of…” Sky stopped. “What are you drawing?” He changed the subject without any subtlety. “Is this for the new thing?”
Trevor flipped the pages until he was back to what he had been drawing before he’d asked if Sky had wanted to talk. He looked at his work and sighed heavily. No one was ever going to take him seriously. “A barbarian,” heavily scarred and clad mostly in impractical scraps of leather and fur, with splashes of blood along his chest and on one cheek, “…with a cat companion.” The cat was on his shoulder, back arched, teeth bared. “Maybe the cat is magic. But a barbarian isn’t right. A warrior maybe, but this isn’t someone mindlessly violent.”
“Not with that many books,” Sky remarked thoughtfully.
“And a catio,” Trevor added.
“And a catio,” Sky agreed. “You should ask him about that, and maybe get his name as well before you start in with the Brian Trevor brand of concern.” Sky saw everything, or close to everything. “And we both know what I mean by concern.”
Trevor looked up to meet Sky’s eyes in the screen.
“It might only be concern,” Trevor answered at last.
“Some of us are fine with it,” Sky went on lightly as though Trevor hadn’t said anything. He put down the tablet, rolled backward in his chair to pause the movie, then rolled forward again. He checked his phone before setting it aside. “So. If you have some push you need to get out of your system at the moment, then I’m willing, Brian.”
Trevor went hot inside and out. “You’re more than willing.” He waited, not cooling down any but counting to five to ensure no trace of heat was in his voice. “You haven’t been sleeping. Call me to help you next time. If nothing else is working, I mean.” He didn’t mean that at all. But he didn’t have the right to demand more.
Sky eased back in his chair, both feet flat on the floor, his hands in his lap. They wouldn’t stay there unless tied or held down.
Trevor held onto his frustration about his inability to take care of that through a computer. “Say yes, Sky, or I’m not going to do anything but watch you.”
The faint smile at the edge of Sky’s mouth disappeared. Sky sank his teeth into his lower lip but a small whine escaped anyway. “Yes.”
Trevor did not give in. Sky could be tricky and this was important. “Yes, what, Sky baby?”
The nickname made Sky swallow. His gaze was still sharp. He wasn’t ready to give in yet, but he wanted to be, which was probably why he finally nodded. “Yes, I’ll call you to help me sleep next time I need it, Brian.”
The second Brian was overkill, but Sky must really need this.
Trevor put the sketchbook aside. “Good. Thank you, smart boy.”
Sky opened his mouth as if prepared to argue or to share or some genius thought that had occurred to him. He stopped himself when Trevor raised a finger. Then a flush carried down through his chest. “Yes,” he agreed quietly, following rules established years ago.
Trevor got up to lock the door.