Meow. I turn. A sleek black-and-white cat walks in. Her tail curls high, her eyes big and gray. She looks at me for a second, like she’s deciding whether I’m worth her time, then jumps on the bed.
"Hey," I say quietly, stepping closer. "You live here too, huh?" She blinks slowly, then starts purring as I scratch behind her ears.
"Well, at least you don’t yell at me naked."
She pushes her head into my hand like we’re best friends. "Smart girl. You probably know all his secrets, don’t you?"
I smile, and for a second, it feels calm. Like the world stops yelling. Then I hear the water shut off. My heart does something stupid in my chest.
I keep petting the cat. I keep looking around his room, trying not to think too hard about the fact that he’s just downstairs, probably still half-naked.
Then something catches my eye.
Something I know.
My heart actually stops for a second.
No. No fucking way. I walk closer until I’m standing right in front of it.
It’s a black fountain pen. Scratched on the side, a tiny dent on the cap. My initials are still faintly visible near the clip. I pick it up carefully.
"That son of a bitch," I whisper.
"Miss me already?" I jump.
Gio strolls in like it’s nothing, towel around his neck, rubbing it through his wet hair. He has on a sleeveless black shirt and gray sweatpants, the kind of outfit that should look lazy, careless.
But on him, it looks like a campaign ad for how unfair genetics can be.
"This was mine," I snap, turning to face him and holding the pen up. "You stole this from me?"
He looks at it. Then laughs. "Didn’t know it was yours." "Bullshit," I shoot back.
"You knew exactly what you were doing."
He smirks and drops onto his bed, arms behind his head. "Well, too late now. I’m emotionally attached. We’ve been through things together, me and that pen."
He makes a mock-sad face like he’s about to start sobbing.
I roll my eyes and turn back to the bed. His cat, apparently still fully invested in my existence, rubs up against my hand again.
"She likes you already," Gio says from behind me. "No idea why. She’s got horrible taste."
I glance over my shoulder. He’s sprawled out like a king, the smug expression never leaving his face.
"She clearly recognizes intelligence," I mutter, still petting her.
"Right."
He stretches, then looks at me with that irritating calm. "So you’re just gonna sit all the way over there, huh?"
"What?"
He gestures lazily to the chair I’m hovering near.
"That’s like miles away. How are we supposed to work like this? Yelling across the room?"
I don’t answer.
