Not a Word

by Dawn Sister

  I have no idea how, or when I started feeling like this. It sort of crept up on me unawares. The first I knew about it was that night in my kitchen, when I held him and it felt so good, and he smelled so good. My body has been reacting to the memory of those sensations ever since, despite constantly reminding myself that he probably left abruptly because I was holding him too intimately.

  Is tonight a good time to try to talk to him about all of this? About how I’m feeling? There’s no time like the present, right?

  Nervously, I walk back into the living room with two mugs of tea and stop dead in my tracks. The sight before me causes me to catch my breath and dispels any thoughts or chance of a heart to heart with Zak, tonight at least.

  He’s lying on his back, the length of the sofa, fast asleep. Zen is lying within the fold of his arm, resting half on Zak’s slim chest and half on the sofa cushions.

  “Hmph!” I huff, smiling affectionately at my loyal little dog. “Traitor.” Zen lifts his head and pricks up his ears but doesn’t make any attempt to move from his self-appointed post.

  My dog watches me curiously, as if he’s trying to tell me something in his sweet little canine way.

  If he’s trying to tell me he thinks Zak is beautiful, then he’s preaching to the converted. I realise I’ve always thought that.

  Zak looks as if he’s out for the count, and I don’t have the heart to wake him just to give him a cup of tea and pour my heart out. Instead, I take the mugs back into the kitchen and return to the living room with a blanket to place over Zak so he doesn’t wake up cold.

  “You look after him, Zen,” I tell my dog. “We’ll decide what to do in the morning, eh?”

  I have no idea if Zen understands that I’ve put him on guard duty, but he’s in a better position to get closer to Zak than I am right now.

  Though the thought of tucking myself into the fold of Zak’s arm and lying across his chest is a very tempting one.

  I have no idea where I get these crazy notions.

  Chapter 18

  In which I’m working so hard

  I think I may have missed something

  The next day, Zak is gone from the sofa when I wake up. Zen is also nowhere to be found, so I assume they are out together. No doubt I’ll see them sometime today; then maybe we can talk about what is going on between us.

  While I’m pottering about in my kitchen, pretending I’m not waiting for Zak to get back, I get a phone call from one of the companies I work for asking me to go in for a meeting about a massive project. Much as I hate board meetings, this job promises to pay me an obscene amount of money, so I can’t really refuse. I mean, this job could set me up for the rest of the year.

  I get ready and go, leaving a quick note for Zak.

  ***

  The job turned out to be more than big; it’s huge.

  The next few weeks, for me, are quite literally a blur, as work takes over my life, and I barely have time to breathe let alone think about my feelings for Zak.

  I am confused. I think I may be missing some important pieces of information about our relationship status—things I know we haven’t discussed because I’ve been so damn busy. They seem to have happened anyway. I appear to have acquired a housemate by stealth—his stealth—since I cannot remember actually telling him he could move in.

  I don’t recall him ever asking if he could, yet here I am in my bathroom, and there is an extra toothbrush on the sink. ‘Products’ I have not purchased clutter up the edge of the bath and the bench.

  When did they appear?

  I left Zak sleeping on my sofa again last night, and when I woke up this morning, he was in my kitchen cooking breakfast.

  “Hi, want some pancakes?” he calls cheerfully, as I wander in rubbing sleep from my eyes.

  All I seem to have done over the last ten days is work, eat and sleep, and if it hadn’t been for Zak, I wouldn’t have done the last two of those things regularly. He’s been amazing, but does he have to be so bloody cheerful in the morning?

  I grunt as he hands me a coffee, and he chuckles. I’m not the most chatty person at the best of times, but mornings are particularly difficult for me, and I’m sullen and less communicative than usual. I’m just not a morning person. Zak obviously is. He’s been up for ages.

  I know, because he took Zen out for a walk, and then he took a shower! In my bathroom!

  As I watch him prepare breakfast, I frown—or rather, scowl—at him over the rim of my coffee cup. He’s not even fully dressed. He’s wearing a pair of sweatpants, and that’s it. Has he no shame? I enjoy his company, and I’m not complaining about the view, or the smell—he smells, hmm, he smells good—but we need to talk about his apparent lack of inhibition and his stealth relocation.

  “Zak, when exactly did you move in?”

  “What?” He laughs out loud at the apparent preposterousness of my question, but actually looking slightly cagey. He keeps his attention on the pancakes. “What the hell made you ask that, Niall? I haven’t moved in.”

  “You s-slept here last night?”

  “Er, yeah, I fell asleep on the sofa.” He grimaces. “Why didn’t you wake me? I would’ve gone home.”

  I hadn’t had the heart. He’d been lying with Zen again, in their usual position. I covered him with the blanket and went off to bed. I suppose I could have woken him then, but he’d looked so peaceful. What I can’t actually admit is that I sat watching him for a little while because he’s beautiful when he’s asleep. He’s beautiful all the time, but when he’s asleep I can watch him without him knowing. Oh dear, does that sound a bit creepy?

  More creepy than him moving his stuff into my bathroom without actually asking me if it’s okay? Did he think I wouldn’t notice?

  “Okay, if you h-haven’t moved in, explain the extra t-toothbrush in my bathroom.”

  “I, er, eat here quite a lot?” He makes the statement into a question. I purse my lips.

  “I’d noticed.”

  He manages to look a little sheepish, and I didn’t want to make this into the Spanish Inquisition, but I find I am enjoying his minor discomfort. He does have a little bit of explaining to do.

  “I like to clean my teeth straight after a meal, so I thought it would make sense to keep a toothbrush here.”

  This would be a perfectly reasonable explanation if it was just the toothbrush.

  “And p-presumably you also like to shower and wash out the smell of food from your hair immediately after a meal, Zak, since I appear to have an awful lot of s-soap products in my bathroom that don’t belong to me.”

  “You know I take Zen with me when I go out for a morning run, and, well, he likes to come straight home, so I thought it would be better for everyone concerned if I showered straight away. I don’t have time to go home and shower before I start breakfast.”

  He shrugs, as if this too makes perfect sense, and in a way it sort of does. I’m certainly not complaining that he makes me breakfast when he’s here…almost every morning. He even cleans the kitchen afterwards, so, you know, that’s a bonus. I’d completely understand what he was saying if it was only the bathroom that had been invaded.

  “I f-found two pairs of your boxers in my laundry pile yesterday.” I fold my arms in front of my chest. “A-and two shirts and a p-pair of jeans.”

  I recall my utter surprise as I sorted through my clean laundry and found underwear that did not belong to me. It has been quite a while since I have handled someone else’s undergarments. I dropped them in surprise, and I might have squeaked a little.

  “I was doing laundry, Niall, and you didn’t have enough to make up an entire load, so I put some of my stuff in too.”

  “You did my laundry?” I gape at him, not because of what he’s told me, but because I just didn’t think about the fact that a pile of clean, neatly folded clothes had appeared on my bed. I feel a bit bad that I didn’t notice he was doing this for me.

  “Yup!” He serves the eggs, pancakes and some bacon o
nto two plates, then brings them over to the bench, regarding me with wide, innocent eyes. “And I hung it all out on the line to dry.”

  When on earth did he do that? How on earth did I miss it?

  “So you went home and brought over some of your dirty laundry just to make up a load in my washing machine?”

  “Yeah, Niall, you know…?” He waves his hand in a circle as he swallows a mouthful of coffee and almost chokes on it in his haste to explain himself. “Thus saving water and electricity, et cetera.”

  I just stare at him. Does he expect me to believe this poppycock?

  “So, okay.” I shake my head, then nod in agreement with his logic. “W-what about the fact that you add s-stuff to the bottom of my shopping list all the time.” He has actually done this since the first few weeks after we met.

  “I did your shopping for you, Niall.” He looks at me a little weird, and now I can understand why, because how could I not have noticed that?

  “You did?” I know I lose track of time when I’m working, but that’s ridiculous.

  He nods. “Several times. I get store discount, so I just do it after my shift.”

  “You paid for it?” I splutter.

  Where has my head been for the last few weeks? How could I not have noticed these things?

  “You’ve been kinda busy with that project,” Zak explains as he squeezes maple syrup all over his pancakes and bacon. “So I just kinda helped you out. Did you think you had a never-ending supply of bread and milk?” He raises his eyebrows, and I feel a little like a kid being told off by his dad. I hadn’t even thought about it. “I know you bought the stuff I added the first time. That was a little cheeky of me.” He grins and then bites his lip. “It was just that one time, then the next time I paid for it all.”

  I just can’t get to grips with this. He did my laundry and shopping and cleaning, and I didn’t notice? He must think I’m an ungrateful old sod.

  “Do I owe you any money for the shopping?” I frown, concerned now. He has precious little to begin with, since he’s been saving for a car.

  “Nah!” He waves away my concern as he chews on a large mouthful of syrupy pancake. “I was eating the food too, and I’ve been using your electricity, gas and wi-fi. I figured the food was my contribution, and like I told you, I get store discount.”

  “But not that much.” I turn on my stool to face him. “I can’t let you keep paying for food.”

  “Why?” He raises his eyebrows, and I groan. I’m not getting anywhere fast, and he’s managed to turn the subject around to make it look like I’m being unreasonable.

  “You still deny that you’ve moved in?” I get back to topic.

  “Yes.” He doesn’t even back his argument up with any more excuses, so now I’m beginning to think I’m imagining it all, but I know I’m not.

  He doesn’t deny cluttering up my bathroom or adding his laundry to mine, so maybe he doesn’t even think he’s doing anything wrong. Except, it’s not just the bathroom, laundry or food shopping that is giving him away.

  “So how do you explain the fact that I took delivery of a parcel for you two days ago, with my address on it?”

  He grimaces, and I think I’ve caught him out, but he takes a deep breath, ready to begin one of his long-winded explanations. I just hold on and hope for the best.

  “I didn’t wanna miss the delivery, Niall. I knew I’d be over here when it came, so I put your address on it. I didn’t think you’d mind, because it’s not as if I’m moving in, is it?”

  He blinks innocently, and I find I cannot argue with this logic. My initial goal of getting a straight answer from him is still well out of reach, because he has a reasonable explanation for everything. I can either tell him to stop doing all these things and risk hurting his feelings, or I can go with the flow.

  “D-do you think you’ll be staying over tonight?” I casually take a sip of my coffee and begin reading the paper he appears to have bought while he was out walking Zen.

  “Erm…” His reply is hesitant, as if he isn’t quite sure where this is going. “I got work, but I can come with you when you take Zen out later. Maybe we could watch a movie, if you’re not too tired. If you are I’ll take Zen out for a late run for you. So, yeah, maybe I might end up staying over.”

  “Well, for goodness’ sake, don’t s-sleep on the sofa. Your feet hang over the edge, and it makes the place look untidy. It c-can’t be good for your posture, either. Sleep in a bed.”

  “Sure, Niall, but which one?” He flicks his eyebrows at me, and I feel my face heat up. I am half tempted—more than half tempted—to suggest he joins me in mine. I don’t, though. Whatever is happening here, it is moving at a slow pace, and it needs to keep moving slowly, so my brain has time to catch up. And there is the fact that he’s denying everything. Maybe he really doesn’t think he’s moving in.

  “I h-have two spare b-bedrooms. Just pick one.”

  “Oh…er, I thought, er…okay, thanks.” He seems to be lost for words. Well, that’s a first.

  “N-no problem.” I finish my last dregs of coffee, put my plate and mug in the dishwasher and make my escape towards the stairs. “Thanks for breakfast. I’m g-g-going for a sh-sh-sh-sh… Oh god, you get the idea.”

  I escape, feeling like I have got one up on him, but wondering if that’s actually true, because he seems to have come out of this situation smelling strangely of roses, or is that because he used my shower gel?

  Chapter 19

  In which things seemed to be

  going really well, until…

  Zen and I are enjoying the sunshine in my garden. It’s a beautiful day, and I thought I would enjoy the peace and quiet, since Zak is at work, but it’s hell. I’ve become so used to Zak’s constant chatter that I miss it when he’s not around.

  What is going on with me? He’s wormed his way into my life, and I didn’t even put up a fight. I still don’t even know what we are to each other. I’ve tried asking him, but he always seems to want to change the subject.

  He’s practically moved in—in separate rooms, admittedly—so are we just friends? Are we housemates? He buys the food; I pay the bills. I guess that’s in proportion to how much we both earn.

  I don’t think he’s actually told his mum he’s moving out. I think the process has been so gradual on both sides that she may not have noticed in the same way that I didn’t. Rachel works harder than any of us, and she is barely at home except to sleep and frantically bake for her catering business in the mornings. So maybe she doesn’t even know her son has defected to my side of the fence.

  I finished my project yesterday, and Zak’s gone to the car auction place with some friends from work, to buy himself a new car—or, in his words, ‘Get myself a new ride, dude’. He makes me laugh. It’s like living in an American sitcom.

  I’m planning on cooking his favourite spaghetti Bolognese as a thank you for everything he’s done for me over the last few weeks while I was involved with that damn project.

  He wanted me to go with him to the auction, but I’m no good at things like buying cars. He’s far better off going with his friends. I can’t wait to see what he buys, though.

  It’s about four in the afternoon when Zen gives a small, excited huff and disappears through his gap in the fence signalling to me that Zak is home.

  “Hey, Niall,” Zak calls from the other side of my garden gate. “Come see my new ride.”

  I can’t help chuckling at the excitement in Zak’s voice. I’m sure if he had a tail he’d be wagging it.

  I go through the house and open the front door and then stand there gaping at Zak’s new ‘ride’.

  “A motorbike?” I gasp as Zak straddles it, grinning from ear to ear, very proud of his acquisition.

  “What d’ya think? Pretty cool, huh? It’s vintage. I got it for a song at the auction.”

  “B-but I thought you were getting a car.”

  “He was getting a car, Niall, but he came back with that monstrosity.�
�� Rachel is standing in the doorway of their house, her hands covered in flour, looking on in disgust at her son’s choice of transportation.

  “It isn’t a monstrosity, Mom.” Zak sighs in frustration, and I get the impression they have had this conversation already. “Tell Mom it isn’t a monstrosity, Niall.”

  I look from him over to Rachel and then back to him, unable to actually form any words because I’m not really sure where I stand with motorbikes in general. I mean, Zak looks pretty hot sitting astride this one, and I find myself imagining him in leathers and a helmet, and riding boots and…phew.

  Then I see Rachel’s face, and the worry in her eyes, and I remember friends who have had nasty accidents on bikes and never fully recovered. People get killed all the time, and the next heap of bones and blood in the road could be Zak.

  Zak groans as he sees exactly what I’m thinking as well.

  “I thought at least you would be on my side, Niall.” He rolls his eyes and climbs off the bike. “Don’t worry, I won’t be riding it again, until I get all the gear anyway.”

  “You rode it home?!” Rachel almost screams and I gasp.

  “You rode without any protective gear?” I can’t believe he would do something so irresponsible.

  Zak rolls his eyes again, as if I am acting like a worrywart parent instead of a friend. I can be a friend and still be a worrywart, though, right?

  “I borrowed a helmet,” he assures me. “And it wasn’t far. I’ve ordered leathers. They’ll take a few weeks to get here, so I promise I won’t ride until they arrive.”

  I nod vigorously and meet Rachel’s concerned eye. She nods in gratitude, as if I have taken her side on purpose, but I haven’t. I just share her concerns. I have no wish to see Zak broken in any way.

  With some discontented mumbling, Zak pushes his newly acquired bike into the garage. “The thing needs some work anyway,” he mutters, not looking at me or his mother. He laughs at Zen, though, who follows him into the garage. “Hey, little buddy, are you gonna be a grease monkey too?”