Starts with a Match

Carrot Cakes and...Cats?

Toby had a bad day at work. Whole bunch of shit happened, I guess, they were texting me off and on all day. They got misgendered, someone said they were too pretty to be a guy—fucking lies, fuck that shit—and another person called them a skank when they politely asked them to please keep their mask on until they were seated at the bar or at a table. A skank? Really? Fuckers.

Apparently, as icing on the cake, the new manager that just got started doesn't like them taking off five to seven days a month—even though that's the deal Toby came up with when they were hired; part-time, certain days off, working shitty shifts that no one wants in return.

This new person said they had to limit their time away from work, suck it up, or find another job, starting next month. I told Toby they didn't need one, reminding them again that I make enough. Toby seemed more put out about not being able to visit Maisie as often.

For the first time, I started to wonder if they secretly liked each other. If that was the case, I'd step out of the way. Obviously. I mean, married, yes. In love? Eh. I mean, no, not really. Not on both sides.

When they got home two hours ago, they were in tears, and I dropped the laundry I was folding to hug them.

I wasn't entirely sure if it was just the work stuff that was bothering them so much, but they didn't want to share when I asked if there was anything else going on.

I hated seeing them upset, listening to their quiet words as they told me everything that happened, palm digging so hard against their chest it turned it red.

But man was it just a little too amazing to feel them press into me, letting me envelope them and care for them like that. Especially when I got a sweet, "How'd you know I needed a hug?" mumbled into my neck. Cause I needed one, Toby.

Since then, they've showered, let me braid their hair, and after dinner—macaroni and cheese with more cheese than our intestines can probably handle—they popped half a gummy. We've been on our designated sofas since then.

I keep an eye on them mostly out of curiosity. Haven't seen them high, or sleepy-high. Should be interesting.

It is interesting. And adorable, really. We've got Coco on, guess it's their favorite movie. Can't stand it, makes me cry. But we're only a few minutes in, so I've got time to escape before the end where I bawl like a baby.

Toby lets out a hum. It turns into a giggle, and I glance over at them on their loveseat. Legs stretched out, feet kicking left to right. They painted their toenails last night, pink. I let them paint mine, too, so I reach my own legs out and tap their toes with mine. That gets another giggle.

"We never did a staring contest," Toby yawns, stretching their arms up.

"We did, you said so."

"When?"

"When we got drunk at the military ball—you told me this, Toby," I laugh.

"Did I win?"

"Neither of us one."

Toby pouts and squints with a hm, hm, hm. "But we could do it again. Maybe if you win, you can get what you bet last time."

Curiosity piqued. "And remind me what that was...?" Did I bet that, if I won, I'd get a kiss? Or to hold their hand? Or to actually take them on a date? Please let it be all the above or more.

"You bet that if you won, I'd have to tell you what color my vibrator is." I kick past, drunk Kevin in the head. Didn't even bet to see it, just wanted to know the color. "It's blue, by the way, so now you can't use that again." Fuck.