Back at Brian's apartment, he'd made grilled cheese sandwiches. The fancy kind, with three different cheeses and butter that left the bread perfectly golden. It was almost noon, and I hadn't eaten since sometime yesterday. I hadn't realized how hungry I was until the smell hit.
We sat on his couch, plates balanced on our knees, Watson curled in my lap like he'd always belonged there. The apartment was quiet except for the occasional car passing below and the steady rhythm of Watson's purr.
"The officer's right," Brian said between bites. "You need somewhere they don't know about."
"I know." I forced myself to think practically. The way I thought through differential diagnoses. "I'll have to find a newplace." I stared at my sandwich without seeing it. "Maybe something in a different neighborhood, a building with better security?—"
"You know..." Brian set down his sandwich. "I've been thinking about moving for a while now. Looking at new apartments."
My heart dropped. Of all the things I'd expected him to say, this wasn't it. He was leaving. My neighbor, my friend, the person who'd been my anchor for four years—he was moving away.
"Oh." I tried to keep my voice neutral. Failed. "Since when?"
"A while. Just couldn't get myself to do it."
"Why not?"
He didn't answer directly. Just looked at me with those warm brown eyes, and something in his expression tightened my chest.
"The point is, I've been looking. And I was thinking..." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "What if we found a place together? Roommates. That way you're not alone, and you're somewhere safe."
"Roommates."
"I mean, this building sucks anyway."
I blinked. "What?"
"The hot water is a joke."
A surprised laugh escaped me. "It really is."
"The hallway always smells like someone's cooking fish."
"The super takes six days to return a call."
"The fire escape is a death trap."
"I've reported it twice. They haven't done anything."
We were both laughing now, the tension cracking like ice in spring. Watson looked up at us with an expression that clearly saidhumans are ridiculous, then went back to kneading Brian's couch cushion.
"So?" Brian's smile softened into something warmer. "Roommates? You, me, and the world's most threatening-looking cat?"
I looked at him. At his steady eyes, his open expression, his complete lack of hesitation. At the man who'd been showing up for me for four years, asking for nothing, offering everything.
"Roommates,” I said.
He grinned. That easy, open grin that made me feel like everything might be okay.
That night, Brian insisted I take his bed. I protested. He didn't budge.
"You've had a worse day than me. Take the bed."
"You came off a twenty-four-hour shift fighting fires."
"And you just had your apartment destroyed. Bed. Now."
Watson had already claimed the foot of Brian's bed, looking extremely comfortable and completely unbothered by the argument. His yellow eyes blinked at me slowly, and I could swear he was smirking.
