For all Day knew, Goldie was a crazy killer or something.
Of course, Goldie wasn’t and there hadn’t been anything exciting in his bedroom for several years now, but this did make him question how trusting Day was. He looked so very young, and Goldie felt more than a bit lecherous as he admired the long lines of Day’s legs. He quickly diverted his thoughts away from the rampant filth they were surely trying to dive into, and he cleared his throat.
Day looked back at him.
“Are you from around here, Day?” Goldie asked politely.
Day nodded.
“Okay, do you have somewhere to go? A safe place to stay?”
Day nodded again, moving on to the next shelf and fixing the arrangement of cups and keychains.
Goldie didn’t want to press the obvious question, but he was curious. “I’m sorry to ask, but can you talk?”
Day shook his head, looking back to Goldie with his index finger over his lips.
“Oh, okay.” Goldie wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, but he took it as Day not being able to speak. He didn’t want to pry beyond that as it would have been rude and the cause might be potentially unpleasant, so he asked instead, “Do you sign at all? Not that I can, heh, but I could learn if it would help bein’ able to talk to you.”
Day smiled and shook his head. He pointed at himself and then moved his hand through the air as if he was writing something.
“You just write stuff down, huh? Like the note?” Goldie yawned, pausing to take a big gulp of coffee.
Day nodded and went back to straightening out the shelves.
Goldie had almost made it through the first cup, and he was still tired. He was actually gettingmoretired, which was weird. He blamed his hangover and finished off the cup he was currently drinking so he could grab another.
This one was some sort of wintery spice flavor and very sweet.
He’d have to tell Day to cut back on the sugar next time.
Next time—Hell, Goldie hadn’t even had Day inside his apartment for ten minutes and he was already thinking about seeing him again. There was something so endearing about watching Day fix up his old wrestling stuff as if they were magical artifacts truly worthy of such devoted attention, and Goldie was no longer in a hurry to leave.
He could go to the bank later.
Fuck, he might not even go to work today.
Goldie hadn’t used a single sick day in about two years, and he could stand to miss one day to get to know Day a little better. Besides, he wasn’t totally convinced that Day actually had anywhere to go, and he wanted to help him. He couldn’t explain the insistent urge he felt to take care of Day, but it was clear to Goldie that Day was in serious need of some assistance.
Goldie was far from rich, but he could help Day out with some food, a little bit of cash, or maybe some clothes and a pair of shoes that didn’t have any holes in them.
Anything to see that dazzling smile again.
Goldie got his phone from the bedroom, texting that he wasn’t going to be coming into work today period and to let his clients know he’d see them all next week.
Fuck it.
“That was the prize you could get for mailing in five box tops from Goldie-O’s cereal,” Goldie said as he came back out to the living room, seeing Day closely examining a small golden figure of himself. “It’s not really gold, of course. Just cheap paint on even cheaper plastic, but wow, kids went crazy for it.”
Day smiled, and he gingerly placed the figure back up with the others.
“You really don’t have to do that, you know.” Goldie yawned again, sitting back on the couch. “Purrcy is always knockin’ stuff over, and I just hadn’t felt like reorganizing it, you know?”
Day mouthed, “Purrcy?”
“Oh! My cat.” Goldie looked around, but he didn’t see any immediate sign of her. “She’s here somewhere. Not allergic to cats, are you?”
Day shook his head.
