Three for the City

August: Wanting

Matt swore to himself he was never going to work on a Monday after a Sunday night of fairly heavy drinking. Or maybe he should amend that to not drink heavily on a Sunday, because the headache caused by the morning commute was damn near level with one of Topher’s lesser migraines an hour into his shift, and all he was doing was sitting on a stool behind the cash register. There had been one time when there hadn’t been anyone else in sight and a girl of about thirteen had asked where a particular section was, forcing him onto his crutches. She’d stared openly at his cast; he’d told her the other guy looked worse.

He’d never been so happy to see Delia’s Suburban waiting for him outside the St. George terminal in his life.

“I can drop you off at the house, and then I have to go back to work for a bit.” She shrugged, tossing his crutches in the backseat while he heaved himself into the front, backpack wedged uncomfortable between his knees. There were new signatures on his cast, most likely from sympathetic coworkers.

“I’m just happy I don’t have to crutch my sorry ass home,” Matt said as she got behind the wheel and started the vehicle.

“I wouldn’t do that to you.” She fired up the GPS. They were closer to their new house than their old apartment, but she still needed the help of automated directions to not take the scenic route. “My cousin, yes. You, not so much.”

He snorted.

She pulled into the driveway about five minutes later, throwing it in park to get his crutches from the back. He made his way slowly to the front door, and she waited to leave until he was safely inside. Sure he was a big boy and could take care of himself, but his left leg was mostly deadweight in fiberglass. She gave him another week, two at the max, before his shin started to itch and she had to hide the coat hangers. Topher would be worse.

Checking her mirrors, she made sure no other cars were coming and reversed out of the driveway. She really did need to get back to the studio. Paperwork was a bitch, and there was the summer showing coming up, which meant she needed to figure out costumes.

And tickets, she thought. Because Matt and Topher will come even if they don’t want to because they’re good like that.

Topher shut the front door quietly behind him, peering through the late afternoon shadows for any sign of movement. There weren’t any, even from the cats, and he dumped the mail on the little table, keys going in the bowl.

They’d transitioned from hooks to a bowl seamlessly, another difference between The Shoebox and the house.

He took the long way to the kitchen, through the second living room – the one on the right, with the fireplace – and froze not even three steps in.

Matt was sacked out on the couch, right leg hanging off the cushions. Monster was stretched between his human’s thighs, and Fidget lay curled in the juncture of hip and torso.

It was probably too dark – they were on the wrong side of the house to get the setting sun – but he snapped the picture with his phone without flash. Not half bad, and he texted it to Matt’s sisters and Delia. Topher had the urge to join him, and realized not only was there no room, but Monster would be especially pissy for the evening if he was rousted.

He carefully dropped the backs of his fingers to Matt’s forehead, smiling when he couldn’t find any trace of fever. Leaving him to his snooze, Topher continued into the kitchen to figure out what to make for dinner. Something easy, and lacking complicated preparation with two hands.

“Seriously?” Topher asked, looking incredulously between the partially unwrapped stick of butter and Monster cradled in Matt’s arms. “I know you hate that word, but it fits. So. Seriously?”

“Yes. Seriously.” Matt repositioned the cat, giving Topher better access to his paws. “Butter his paws.”

It didn’t require the use of fully functioning hands, thank Christ, and he held the paw with his left smearing Land O’Lakes on it with his right.

“This is weird,” Topher muttered, doing all four paws and only having to dodge one butter-covered swipe before Matt dumped him onto the back porch. Monster immediately sat and began licking his appendages clean.

Matt fought briefly to get Fidget out of his carrier. He didn’t come willingly, and whenn he finally did he did his best to sink his claws in Topher’s scalp, head bent over his task. Eventually he was sitting next to his brother licking salted butter knowingly applied.

“Why did we do this, again?”

“Because,” Matt said, dropping into a strategically placed chair, “it’s how they know this is home. So they’ll come back here. That that I think they’ll wander too far.”

“Okay.” Topher raised his hand in defeat. “I’m trusting you on this.”

“Greatness. Dinner?”

“Take out?” Topher held his hand out to Matt and hauled him upright. The crutches were leaned up against the side of the house, and Topher made sure Matt was somewhat steady before holding open the door. The kept careful track of that damn stick of butter – it was going in the garbage the first chance he got – and hoped Delia wouldn’t mind ordered pizza, as he didn’t feel like cooking.

“Can we keep Delia’s ‘shrooms on her side of the pizza this time? Please?” Matt crutched to their nook, sinking onto the padded seat.

“No problem.” He’d forgotten Matt wasn’t the biggest fan of mushrooms in general, much less on pizza. His cell phone was on the counter, and he scrolled through his contacts for a nearby pizzeria that delivered, glancing at Matt and only seeing a side profile from where he was looking out the window, watching the cats explore the yard. Backlit by the fading sunlight as it sunk below the trees and other houses, Topher felt his breath catch in his chest. This was one of those times when he couldn’t quite wrap his head around his reality; Matt was here, with him, and content. Not going anywhere. When he pushed himself to think about it more in depth, Matt hadn’t gone anywhere in four years, except closer. The two of them had been living this life, living together, for years.

He looked down at the backs of his hands, briefly fixated on his bare left ring finger. Marriage hadn’t been something he’d thought explicitly about before. He’d assumed his father had been happy with Natalie and vice versa. Except it wasn’t true, anymore, as Natalie had been wearing a different wedding ring back in May. He didn’t know what had happened to his father’s, but he knew Daniel Winchester had probably never taken his off since Victoria had slipped it on his finger.

For someone normally batshit terrified of the kind of commitment he was thinking about, Topher didn’t mind the idea of having that kind of connection with Matt. Truthfully, didn’t mind was crossing rapidly into want territory, and dragging him along for the ride.

“Toph?”

He snapped back to the here and now, blinking as he looked at Matt’s raised eyebrows.

“You okay?” Matt asked slowly.

“Yeah, coeur. I’m good.” He flexed the fingers of his left hand and tapped his phone with his thumb.