Strays

by Garrett Leigh

  “Yeah?” Lenny cast a pointed glance to Nero’s left hand. “So why won’t you tell me who you are?”

  Apparently certain that no answer was forthcoming, Lenny walked away. After a split second, Nero followed him, his bare feet unnaturally loud in the eerily quiet flat, keeping time with the tattoo in his chest—a slow, London thunder that felt like ominous desperation. Please don’t make me do this.

  He found Lenny huddled on the sofa, gazing blankly at the muted TV.

  “Forget something?” Lenny said.

  “You.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Nero ventured farther into the room and held out his hand. “Look, I can’t bare my fucking soul to you, but—”

  “But what, Nero? You think you can have everything I am while I only get a fraction of you?”

  “No.” That wasn’t right, or was it? Lenny had shared his darkest secret, but what had Nero given him in return? An omelette and a plate of hollow bullshit? Defeated, Nero dropped his hand and turned away. “Lenny, mate, this is all I got. I’m sorry it ain’t enough.”

  Nero rolled over, chest tight, arms flailing, suffocating in the murky blackness of the dank cellar, his brain vibrating to the stampeding beat of his heart. He cried out, though for who he didn’t know, because no one ever came.

  Gasping awake, he curled instinctively into the foetal position, but his knees hit a warm mass.

  What the fuck?

  Nero’s eyes flew open, but the paralysing fear he so often woke with was absent, held at bay by the sight of the pale, slender man stretched out fast asleep beside him.

  Lenny’s shock of white-blond hair gleamed in the dark like a halo. Nero reached out to touch it before he remembered why it was here. He combed lightly through the silky strands, and trailed his fingertips down Lenny’s face, tracing his cheekbone, ghosting down his jaw. Part of him craved the heat of Lenny’s fierce gaze, and as the stolen moment tunnelled through the haze of complication between them, Nero found himself willing time to stop so they could always be like this.

  Inevitably, though, reality made itself known. Lenny stirred, like he’d sensed the disquiet in Nero’s fragmented mind. He opened his eyes, but they were vacant and unseeing, and a split second later they fluttered closed again, leaving Nero to wonder if he’d imagined it.

  But there was no make-believe in how it felt to have Lenny in his bed, the warmth of him, and the sound of his soft, even breaths. Nero rarely had shared a bed—to sleep, at least—and as hard as he tried, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken to someone sleeping beside him. And Lenny’s quiet presence was like a drug. Nero’s eyes grew heavy, his heart slowed, and he slipped into the kind of sleep he’d been chasing for years.

  Insistent banging on the front door roused Nero sometime the next morning. He sat up, grumbling; it would be some idiot from downstairs who couldn’t find a teaspoon. So much for a lie in—not that he’d truly anticipated one. He woke most days before the sun, unless—

  A trembling hand closed around Nero’s wrist. “Who is it?”

  Nero blinked. So it wasn’t a dream. But before his brain could implode at the thought of what that meant, the sight of Lenny huddled at the headboard, his knees drawn tight to his chest, his eyes wide with fear, took over. “Len—”

  “Who’s at the door?”

  “I don’t know, but it won’t be anyone we don’t know. It’s—” Nero checked his phone “—half seven. Debs is downstairs counting stock with Spanks. They wouldn’t dare let anyone up here, so it’s gonna be one of them, I promise.”

  Lenny looked far from convinced. “You can’t be sure.”

  Nero’s phone vibrated. He tossed it down the bed without glancing at it. “Yes, I can. In all the time I’ve lived here, no one outside of Urban Soul staff has ever knocked on that door. Some days, Cass don’t even bother knocking. Fucker just lets himself in and sticks the kettle on when he remembers his key.”

  Lenny savaged his bottom lip, digging his teeth in so hard he drew blood. Nero scrambled up on his knees and took Lenny’s face in his hands. “Lenny, mate. You gotta calm down. I can hear your heart juddering from here, and I’m telling you, it ain’t worth it for Debs’s ugly mug.”

  For a long moment, Lenny said nothing, just trembled, his breath caught in his throat, and his face so pale Nero half expected to see bone. Then he let out a shaky breath and brought his hands to Nero’s. “You sure it’s Debs?”

  “It might be Spanks.”

  “No one else, though?”

  “No one else.” Nero brushed a light kiss to Lenny’s lips, surprising himself as much as he clearly surprised Lenny. “I’m gonna answer it before Spanks takes a piss though the letterbox. Chill out, yeah? Go back to sleep.”

  He got up, knowing all too well that his attempts at comfort had done little to ease Lenny’s fears. And who could blame him when he’d spent so long with that creep following him around?

  Fuck’s sake. Rage rumbled in Nero’s veins. He pulled on the trackies he’d discarded the night before, trying not to think about the fact that he was stomping around in his pants in front of Lenny, or to imagine his hawkish gaze on the faint scars he’d likely noticed on the backs of Nero’s thighs. God knew, Nero had enough bullshit spinning his head without having to dodge Lenny’s inevitable questions about that.

  Out in the hall, he wrenched the front door open. “All right, all right. Stop fucking with my door—”

  The words died on his lips. Coppers. Fuck. Nero’s blood ran cold, his skin prickled, and every fight-or-flight instinct he’d ever had roared to life.

  “Mr. Fierro?”

  The first policeman stepped forward. Nero blocked the door. “What’s it to you?”

  “We’re looking for Lenny Mitchell. Your employees downstairs said he was staying with you.”

  “They’re not my employees. I just work here.”

  “Mr. Fearnes told us you were in charge.”

  Tom. Something clicked in Nero’s chaotic mind, but he widened his stance. They’re coppers. Don’t trust ’em. “What do you want Lenny for?”

  “Could we come in?”

  It was the younger policeman this time. He braved another step forward, but Nero continued to bar his path. “I didn’t say he was here.”

  The first copper frowned, and Nero watched as bluster crept through him, enhancing his slight paunch and squaring his shoulders. “Is there a problem here, Mr. Fierro?”

  “I never said I was him either, so sorry, lads, you ain’t coming in.”

  Nero started to shut the door, closing his ears to the older PC’s indignant protests. Fuck ’em. If they wanted Lenny, they’d have to go through him—

  “Nero.” Lenny caught the door and stepped in front of Nero. “Easy. It’s okay, Nero. Tom sent them.”

  Tom. Again. Nero fought Lenny’s grip on the door as his phone rang in the bedroom, blaring out Cass’s ringtone. So what if Mr. Perfect had seen fit to send the old bill to Nero’s door? So what if they were all smiles and “Good morning, Mr. Mitchell . . .” right now? In Nero’s world, that didn’t mean shit.

  “Nero, let go of the door.”

  Nero blinked. Lenny was in his face, staring at him with a mixture of exasperation and concern, the door halfway closed, shielding them from the copper’s view. He pressed his forehead to Nero’s. “It’s okay, I promise. They just want to talk to me, and I want to talk to them. Let them in . . . please?”

  “No.”

  “Please. Don’t make me talk to them in the bloody bar.”

  Nero released the door. His step back felt like a stumble as his legs wobbled, but the wall behind him kept him upright. He leaned heavily on it, watching through narrowed eyes as the two policemen walked into his home. Fuck this. He eyed the still-open front door, but with every nerve he had stretched to the breaking point, nothing could make him leave Lenny.

  He slammed the front door and stormed to the fire escape, grabbing Lenny’s fags from the kitchen table. Outs
ide he did a cursory scan for weed paraphernalia, but there was none, save a few dubious butts in the ashtray. Besides, if they searched the place, they’d only find a ten bag. What were they going to do? Lock him up for a couple of joints?

  Belligerence surged through Nero, but faded as suddenly as it had arrived. His tiny weed habit was barely a criminal offence anymore, but it didn’t take a genius to know that Tom wouldn’t stand for shit like that going on at Pippa’s. You really wanna lose your job? Dude, it’s all you got.

  Nero silenced the optimistic moral compass on his shoulder and lit a smoke, leaning on the railing and gazing, unseeing, out over the city. He was tired, damn it, despite sleeping better than he had in years, and he couldn’t shake the discomfort of knowing there were coppers at his back, sitting on his couch, making themselves at home in the only place his adult self had ever truly felt at home.

  The urge to go inside and put himself between them and Lenny was strong—too strong. Nero lit another fag from the butt of the first and closed his eyes, hanging his head. His missing finger tingled. Lenny wanted to know who he was, but if he couldn’t figure it out by the different way those coppers looked at each of them, then what was the point? With some distance between them, Nero could see it now: those men had wanted to help Lenny, not fuck him over, because Lenny wasn’t a criminal, a known name from a place where only bad faces rose and knew no better.

  They wanted to help Lenny, because Lenny was good, so why did Nero still feel like there was a mountain at the gates?

  Monday. Midday. The coppers were finally gone. Nero had heard the front door close and watched as they appeared in the car park below, got into their car, and drove away. He waited for relief, and then Lenny, but neither was forthcoming, and it took four more cigarettes before he found the inclination to search either out.

  Inside, Lenny was in the living room, folding up his bedding. “What did they want?”

  “If you’d stuck around, you’d know.”

  “Don’t fuck with me.”

  Lenny flinched. “Don’t talk to me like that. If you want a conversation, go put the kettle on and come back with a cuppa and a face that doesn’t look like a serial killer’s.”

  It was the second time Lenny had thrown that insult at Nero, and it didn’t sting any less. Nero turned on his heel and went back to the kitchen. Autopilot took him to the kettle and filled it with water, but he didn’t flick the switch. Instead, he braced himself on the counter and tried to get a hold on his speeding mind—it wouldn’t be long before he couldn’t, before he went into meltdown and there was no way back.

  Lenny’s light touch startled him. “I don’t know what the fuck’s going on in that convoluted brain of yours, but if you’re worried about me, you can stop. It’s over. Everything’s okay.”

  “What?”

  “That’s why they came. Make the tea and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Lenny left the room as suddenly as he’d appeared, leaving Nero to boil the kettle and mechanically make tea. He threw some sugar in Lenny’s and carried them into the living room. “Tea. Now talk.”

  “Sit, then.” Lenny accepted his mug and patted the sofa beside him. “And don’t go all ragey and silent on me. It scares me when you do that.”

  “I scare myself.”

  The words were out before Nero could stop them, but Lenny just smiled. “I’ll bet. We can talk about that after, if you want?”

  Nero shook his head. “I’m here to listen.”

  Lenny let it go. “The police think they know who’s been stalking me.”

  “Who is it?”

  “They didn’t say, only that they’d picked someone up for another offence last week and found evidence in his home that he’d been harassing me and a couple of other people.”

  Nero whistled. “So you weren’t the only one?”

  “Apparently not. The bloke was staying at an HMO in Tottenham when they found him, but they reckon he’d moved around a lot, depending on who he was targeting at the time.”

  “Sounds like a whack job.”

  “Or a sadistic wanker. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. They’ve got him.”

  “Banged him up?”

  Lenny nodded. “The liaison officer is going to stay in touch with me—when I reactivate my phone—but they don’t think he’ll get bail, and even if he did, there’s a court order in place stopping him from coming near anyone on the list of victims.”

  Victims. Targets. It sounded too good to be true, but as the first real smile he’d ever seen from Lenny warmed him from the inside out, Nero didn’t have the heart to say it just yet. “Do you feel better?”

  Lenny nodded. “I do, actually. Much better. I can get on with my life now.”

  Nero didn’t have it in him to be as optimistic He took a surreptitious deep breath and hid his frown behind his tea mug. “Who died and made the old bill so helpful? Thought they’d fobbed you off?”

  “They did, but when I lost my shit at Misfits I told Cass everything. He told Tom, and I guess they took him more seriously than they did me.”

  “You never told me Tom was helping you.”

  Lenny shrugged. “Not on purpose, mate. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been off my head these last few weeks, and not in the good way.”

  Again, Nero’s lungs cried out for the burn of a weed pipe, but he ignored it. “I know. I’m sorry, and I’m sorry if I’m a dick about Tom too. He’s a good bloke.”

  “Sounds it. I still haven’t met him in person, and it’s been ages since Cass made me Skype him from the office. I can’t even picture him.”

  “Tall, blond, posh.”

  “That’s all there is to him?”

  Nero chuckled. “I doubt it if he’s been with Cass this long, ’cause he’s a fucking handful. Jake too.”

  Lenny said nothing. He drained his tea mug and ditched it on the coffee table with a dull thud. Suddenly Nero noticed the neatly folded bedding and zipped-up bag of clothes. “Are you leaving?”

  “Um . . .” Lenny shrugged. “I don’t know. Cass said I could stay here as long as I needed to get this shit sorted out. Now it is, I should probably find somewhere—”

  “Why?”

  Lenny blinked. “Because I’m bodging around your kitchen, hogging your couch, and generally fucking up your life.”

  “You’re not fucking up my life.”

  “No? Then why are we creeping around each other? Or screaming at each other in the middle of the night? Tell me, Nero, ’cause I’ve got no bloody idea.”

  “I don’t want you to go.” Nero knew bugger all else, but of that he was certain. “I like having you—I like you being here.”

  “Why?”

  “For fuck’s sake, I don’t know!” Nero’s frustration boiled over, sudden and violent. He stood and drove his fist into the wall. The brutal impact with the plaster was instantly calming, the pain washing over him like an old friend. “I don’t know anything, okay? So you can ask me any question you like, just—”

  Nero’s voice cracked, ragged and broken, like it belonged to someone else. Lenny came to him and claimed his clenched fist, prying it open so he could press their palms tight together. “Finish the sentence. That’s all I’m asking.”

  “I can’t,” Nero whispered. “Just don’t go . . . please? ’Cause I want you to stay, and I don’t know what the fuck to do about it.”

  Nero woke for a third time that day as the sun was beginning to sink behind the building opposite. He yawned and stretched his arms above his head, absorbing the heat of the body pressed tight against his, as the events of the last twenty-four hours drifted back to him—shouting, screaming, the coppers. More shouting, and then peace, as Lenny had slipped his arms around Nero and whispered softly in his ear. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  What that meant in reality, Nero wasn’t quite sure, since the conversation had descended into a kiss that had taken them to bed, rolling them again and again until they’d both passed out. Now, it was—shi
t, 7 p.m. . . . and the day was nearly gone. Nero scrolled through his phone, taking care not to jolt Lenny, who was still fast asleep. Five missed calls from Cass, two from Debs. Three voice mails, and a series of text messages that provided all the warning he could’ve hoped for about coppers banging on his door, if only he’d picked up his phone.

  Idiot. Not that it mattered now. Nero ditched his phone and looked back in time to see Lenny’s eyes flutter open, hazy at first, but then bright and anxious as they settled on Nero.

  And then Lenny moved fast, sitting up and covering Nero with his body. His kiss was hesitant, perhaps testing himself—and Nero—until Nero responded, wrapping his arms tight around him and crushing him to his chest. They kissed over and over, like they had before they’d fallen asleep, but it felt different now, as though an invisible barrier had faded away.

  Nero flipped them, pinning Lenny to the mattress as his hands roamed Lenny’s upper body. Lenny wrapped his legs around Nero’s waist, and then Nero felt it—a dick that wasn’t his own, or Cass’s, digging into him, hot and hard. His heart skipped, and his already tempestuous blood roared in his ears. Lenny’s dick felt big, and solid, and strong, and all the things Nero had dreamed about when his imagination cut him a break. He gripped Lenny’s hips and pressed against him tighter, absorbing Lenny’s desperate moan, but inside he was flailing, lost on a path untrodden. I need to touch him.

  Lenny squirmed in Nero’s bruising hold and pulled his T-shirt over his head, revealing his slender chest. Nero stared. He’d seen Lenny shirtless more times than he could count, but Lenny seemed paler now, smoother, like iridescent porcelain. He laid his palm on the dark stamp of ink over Lenny’s heart. What does this mean? But he didn’t ask, couldn’t, because as Lenny shoved Nero’s sweatpants down his hips, coherent thought abandoned him.

  Nero made short work of yanking Lenny’s pyjama bottoms down his legs. He tossed them over his shoulder and shivered as Lenny’s bare legs wrapped once again around his waist. With just a thin barrier of underwear between them, Nero kissed Lenny fiercely and ground down on him, searching out the friction he’d craved ever since that first electric kiss, a clumsy fumble that seemed a lifetime ago now.