Justin was pawing through the take-out menus he’d found in a drawer in the kitchen. Literally. He was pushing each aside (toward him and a little to the right) with a graze of his hand, rough and quick, like he’d never developed fine motor skills, or he’d morphed into a cat.

Molly and Gus were sitting on the couch. Gus sat proudly. His feet hung three inches above the floor.

Molly looked around dubiously. She didn’t think she’d like living there. “We have a cat at my house. Do you have any pets?”

“No, no, no.” Gus shook his head furiously. “Mama says no.”

“Hmmm.”

“What’s his name?”

“Huh?”

“Cat.”

“Oh Oscar. We found him in the trash.”

Wide eyes. “In the garbage?”

Molly nodded solemnly. “Someone threw him away. Jus says that that’s why he’s ‘bitey.’”

Wider eyes. “He bites?”

Molly shrugged. “A little. It’s more like gnawing. It doesn’t hurt. Much. And he does it a lot less now.”

Even wider eyes (they were as big as saucers now). Gus drew his breath in sharply. Molly laughed. That was what Daphne called “the pearl clutcher.” She half expected Gus to exclaim, “Oh my!” and reach for his neck. He did exclaim … not “Oh my!” but rather “He bites you??!”

With each rejected menu, Justin’s nose got crinklier. By the time he reached the end, he was sporting a French fry. Justin was appalled that a man with such generally exquisite taste could have absolutely none when it came to pizza. Domino’s? Papa John’s? Pizza Hut? Justin shuddered. Then he called Amici. The sauce was divine, and the mozzarella fresh.

He remembered back to the first time he’d ordered from there. He’d tried to ask for double pepperoni. Franco had pretended not to understand. Justin had turned bright red, partly in embarrassment, partly in anger, and almost hung up in frustration. The next time Justin’d called, he hadn’t even asked for a single order of pepperoni.  Franco had teased him, “No salame picante? No double?”

Molly nodded her head firmly. She kind of liked it when Oscar bit her. Nowadays, he did it slow and almost gently. Like that was one way he expressed his love for her. It meant they had a special connection. “Yup. But Jus says…”

Justin’s head sprang up.

“…bitey cats need the most love.”

Justin swallowed hard.

“I don’t like dogs. They smell bad.”

“And drool.”

Kids were dumb. But right about now, he almost wished he were one.

“You wanna see my mouse? It moves all by ‘self!”

Justin tried to tune Molly and Gus out. Tried. He ran his hand along the counter, first the top, cold and smooth, and then the edge, and sighed. Why was Brian taking so long?

“Squeak, squeak. I’m a little mouse. I’m gonna get the cheese!”

Justin drummed his fingers on the marble and glanced around, trying to pretend even to himself that he wasn’t sneaking looks into Brian’s bedroom hoping for a flash of bronze skin. Brian’s body, warm and damp. Justin shivered. So hard that it actually hurt.

“What are’ya doing?”

Molly shrugged. “What my mom does when she sees a mouse…” She spun the broom (it was about as tall as she and silver and black, of course, but light) with one hand like it was a baton (she couldn’t wait til she was old enough to join color guard. She practiced every day with whatever she could safely twirl) and then sent the bristley part back onto the floor right on top of the mouse’s head.

“Hey!” Gus held the button down. “You can do it, Sweetie!” (Sweetie was the mouse’s name).

Justin accidentally glanced at the kids (while casting his eyes around the loft, pretending not to be looking for Brian). Gus was crawling on the floor toward the broom. Molly moved it every time he drew near, keeping it, and Sweetie, just out of reach. Justin muttered, “Molly, give him back his mouse.” Molly rolled her eyes and sighed, but lifted the broom. Gus’s eyes lit up and he crawled doubletime to retrieve her.

In the course of glancing around, Justin chanced to look up and saw that Brian had managed to get someone in to install his new track lighting. Another hard shiver. And something else. Pleasant and painful. It kind of tickled his insides. He was suddenly dizzy. “Too dark. No Sunshine at all.”

“Isn’t she cute? She has a pink tail with a curl! Like a pig!”

Molly sighed with her entire body.

“Oink, oink.”

Should she tell him he was playing with a cat toy?

Brian was similarly plagued (with memories and questions). He was standing in the bathroom. Sort of. More like leaning. He was remembering Justin’s slippery hair and warm (always a furnace), almost velvet skin. Brian couldn’t get enough the night before. He felt like he’d been tripping or something. Somehow just ghosting his fingers or lips against (or very near) Justin’s skin made him feel … funny. As though it were his skin being touched or teased. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled, creating a tickle-burning. But the burning was weird. Not quite the same as when he desired some trick. Or Justin. (Brian tried to ignore the distinction). It was more like a flush or a fever. But not unpleasant.

Remembering … Brian’s brain took that as a request for a repeat performance. Brian had to sit down on the toilet so he didn’t fall. He had no idea what he was doing. What he wanted to have happen. He just wanted Justin around. But now that Justin was here … Brian had no idea what his goal was. Brian always had a goal, an agenda. Always. But with Justin … he had no idea. He’d never had any idea. He was simply moving from one whim to another.

“Oink, oink.”

Justin flew into Brian, more specifically into Brian’s arms. Somehow, in all the hullabaloo, Brian had thought to toss his crutches. In fact, if Justin wasn’t mistaken, Brian had opened his arms to receive him. Unaccountably, Justin’s skin burned.

Brian bit back his automatic retort: “What would your boyfriend say?” He didn’t want to talk about Joe. Not now. Not ever. And most of all, he didn’t want to joke about Justin’s being with anyone else, let alone the snuggler.

“You look like a tomato!”

Wait … got ahead of myself … first there was a kiss and a bat (the flying kind) …