Composed at Randy’s (Diner Days)

5. Wren

Chapter 5

Wren

T he next time I come to, I’m in an equally unfamiliar but much comfier place. I’m bundled up in soft, fluffy blankets and surrounded by half a dozen pillows. The whole bed smells amazing too.

Like, really amazing. It’s a lot like how I imagine Henry Cavill smells…

Oh shit, I’m about to pop wood over a bed, and we haven’t even been introduced.

I bolt upright and have to struggle, because wow these blankets are really wrapped around me tight. There also seems to be a stuffed cat or seven that I have to battle as I go.

As I work my way free, I hear, “Hey, buddy. It’s okay. You’re safe here.”

My sleep-fuzzy brain manages to inform me that I recognize the voice from last night. But even if I didn’t recognize him, I’d be instantly calmed just by how kind and reassuring Bael’s voice is.

Once I pop free of my cocoon, I can see Bael sitting on the floor next to the massive, king-sized bed I’m in. The curtains are closed, but it’s light outside, so I can see that I’m in a fancy-ass bedroom. It has two couches, what appears to be a walk- in closet, and through a half-opened door, I spot a palatial bathroom.

I lean over the bed and see a single pillow. “Were you sleeping on the floor?”

“I wasn’t going to crawl in with you. That would be a pretty scary thing for you to wake up to,” Bael says sheepishly.

“Yes… scary.” Horny would have been a better term. If I’d woken up in bed next to Bael, I probably would have humped him without realizing it.

I’m pretty hair-trigger in the mornings. Testosterone is a magical thing, but one of the side effects is that it makes me hornier than an entire flock of rabbits.

In fact, at the moment, the combo of Bael’s voice, the smell of his bed, and his gorgeous fucking face has me fighting not to wiggle to find more friction.

“Don't get me wrong,” I say. “I appreciate your gallantry, but you could have stuck me on one of your couches. I wouldn't have minded.”

I'm not a fancy guy. I've been known to sleep on a hardwood floor for hours without moving an inch. I consider that a selling point, but Kai thinks differently and is quite vocal about it.

“I'm not shitty enough to stick you on a couch when you’re not feeling well.”

“Okay, but I'm super gross right now, and you probably don’t want me dirtying up your bed. Wait, unless you gave me a bath while I was asleep. You didn't do that, did you?”

I give myself a quick sniff check, and wow, I’m stinky. Yeah, another gift of testosterone is that you get super stinky real easy.

Bael gives me an offended look. “Dude. If I'm not creepy enough to share a bed with you, I am definitely not creepy enough to bathe you while you're sleeping. If you thought I was that fucked up, you shouldn't have told Gwen that you'd let me take care of you. You had options, you know.” Then his face goes all weird and he starts to backpedal. “I mean… I’m not trying to belittle you. I'm sure in your circumstances it seems like you don't have a lot of options, but I promise you that you do.”

“My circumstances?” I'm not exactly quick on the uptake, but I feel like there's some crucial information I'm missing here.

Bael looks like he's gearing himself up to say something, but a horrible grinding noise outside the bedroom tears our attention away from the conversation. He shoots to his feet, and I fight my way through pillows and stuffies to escape the bed.

My efforts are for nothing, because Bael shoves me back down and throws an entire blanket over my head.

“Stay here,” he orders, and then he's gone.

That was weird, right? It's not just me?

So here I am confused, kinda horny, very hungry, and not even remotely considering staying here.

I fight my way free of the blanket once again, navigate the forest of pillows and stuffies, and finally escape the bed. I'm woozy and I'm not loving it, but I need to know what's happening.

I'm a curious critter and staying put isn’t my style. Kai hates this about me too. You really have to feel sorry for Kai being stuck with me when so much about me drives him nuts. On paper, it sounds like I’m probably the bane of his existence, but I promise you he's a really kind person and one of the only reasons why I’m still alive.

I miss Kai. I really hope his dad is okay.

But to be honest, Kai isn't my first priority right now. I need to know what the hell that noise is and maybe see if I can find a way to get Bael to let me sniff him.

Just once so I can get it out of my system.

I’d like to take a shower first though, just in case the sniffing goes really, really well.

I wobble my way across the floor, through the door, and stumble out into a short hallway. I follow the sounds of, “What the fuck are you doing?” and “For the love of god, make it stop!” and “How did you break the kitchen making soup?”

The first voice is Bael’s, but the other two are strangers’ voices. Then I hear, “Someone go get Harvey!” Followed immediately by, “Don't you dare get Harvey!” Neither voice is Bael’s.

I'm completely winded by the time I make it to the kitchen, so I have to lean against the door frame as I take in the scene in front of me.

“Calm down everyone, it's just Elvis.” A tall, androgynous person shouts to be heard but waves their hand airily in the direction of the godawful noise coming from the vent over the stove.

“Who's Elvis?” I ask, but no one pays attention to me.

“It's not Elvis. Also, Elvis isn't real. And why would you name our ghost Elvis in the first place?” This is Bael. He’s holding a chair and looks a lot like he's trying to find something to hit with it, as if one could battle an annoying noise.

It's pretty cute.

“Don't listen to him, Elvis. You're perfect and we love you,” the androgynous person says.

“No, we don't. Shut up and go away, Elvis.” This comes from a little waifish guy in the corner covering his ears. I think he'd be shooting the noise the finger if he had his hands free.

I shit you not, the sound gets louder.

“Bael, get Travis out of here before he makes everything worse.”

“On it,” Bael says and drops the chair. Then he scoops the little guy off the floor, and when he turns towards the door and sees me, without missing a beat, he scoops me up, tucks me under his other arm, and carries both of us out the door.

Behind us, I hear the androgynous person cooing to their Elvis ghost, saying, “Don't worry about them, baby. They’re all too stupid to know how great you are.”

The sound gets a lot quieter after that.

This place is awesome, and I never want to leave.

“Where are we going?” I ask the waifish guy I’m face-to-face with because we are both under Bael’s arms in twin football holds.

“Somewhere we can’t get in the way of Mel sweet-talking Elvis out of destroying our kitchen for a second time,” Waif-boy says.

“Third time,” Bael corrects.

“Why don’t you believe in Elvis?” I ask Bael.

“Because he’s not real.”

“I think his millions of adoring fans beg to differ,” Waif-boy says and then flails wildly when Bael tosses him onto a huge, white, faux-fur couch. “Hey!”

I expect similar treatment, but instead of giving me the ole heave-ho, Bael sits on the opposite matching couch and arranges me neatly beside him.

“You didn’t stay put,” Bael says to me with betrayed puppy eyes.

They are fucking brutal, and I consider offering him a new car in compensation. I don’t, though, because I’m pretty sure he doesn’t need anyone to get him a new car.

Did I mention how nice this place is? Either Bael is loaded, or he lives with someone who is.

“No. I’m not very good at that.” I would say sorry, but I’m not, and there’s no point starting our friendship on a foundation of lies.

Bael makes a little hmmph sound and ruffles my hair.

“If you don’t believe in Elvis, why did you drag us out of there?” Waif boy doesn’t give Bael a chance to respond before pulling out a bag of M&Ms and chucking it at me. “I’m Travis. Eat something before you die on my couch and make Bael sad.”

It was such a non-sequitur that my dumb ass would have let the package hit me in the face, but Bael reaches out a hand and plucks it out of the air. He gives Travis a wtf man? gesture, and says, “I dragged you out of there because I didn’t want you to add to the chaos, and don’t throw things at Wren.”

“I wasn’t planning on dying on your couch,” I say as I accept the M&Ms from Bael.

“The floor then,” Travis is tearing into another pack of M&Ms with his teeth, so it comes out a little muffled. “You look like you’re moments from joining Elvis in the kitchen, and this place only has room for one ghost, so eat.”

The noise from the kitchen stops, but I can still hear quiet murmuring.

“Is… is that guy flirting with your kitchen?”

“No, she’s just flirting with Elvis.” Travis is actively eating now and it’s kind of gross to watch him talk with his mouth full.

“Oops! Thank you for correcting me.” Trans folk make mistakes about this stuff too, y’all. You just breathe and move on.

“Nah,” Travis waves his hand casually like he’s waving away a mystery fart in the room. “Mel accepts any and all pronouns. When she’s sweet-talking Elvis?—”

“Who isn’t real,” Bael cuts in.

“Who is definitely real,” Travis says through gritted teeth and starts over. “When she’s sweet-talking Elvis, she’s more femme to me, so that’s what I’m going with right now.”

Bael grins. “Personally, I just call Mel a slut. It’s a nice gender-neutral term.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Mel glides into the room with an aura of complete fabulocity.

In my experience, non-binary folk tend to fall into two categories: complete, feral cave goblins, or ethereal creatures touched by the divine. Mel is definitely in the second category. But, like, if everyone wanted to fuck them.

Mel lands next to me and gives me a look that says they’ve clocked me as trans, and I blink up at them. Most folks don’t anymore, but trans folk can usually tell. I wonder how Mel will play this.

“M&Ms aren’t food, Travis,” Mel announces and snatches my candy right out of my hand. “What do you want, honey? I’ll DoorDash it. Elvis wants to be alone with his feelings for a bit, or else I’d cook you something.”

“You don’t need to feed me—” I begin, but everyone talks over me.

“Randy’s has great soup. Let’s order from there since Elvis wouldn’t let me make any.”

“We were just at Randy’s, Travis. Why didn’t you get soup then?”

“That was six fucking hours ago, Bael. Keep up.”

“Oh yeah, right. I can order you a sandwich, Wren. They’ve got some really cute ones.”

“Wren doesn’t want a Hello Kitty sandwich?—”

“Who wouldn’t want a Hello Kitty sandwich?” Bael looks like Travis smacked him in the face, but then he switches gears and says, “We always order from Randy’s though. Maybe Wren would like something different.”

I’ve never eaten at Randy’s a single time in my life or met these people, but it’s sweet of Bael to worry.

“Is Randy’s making anything other than breakfast right now?” I ask.

I’m assuming it’s morning. The light outside looks soft, and the sun is either in the process of coming up or going down. This is me being optimistic about not having slept through an entire day cycle.

Bael gives me a sunny smile, all warm and excited like a golden retriever. “Randy’s will make anything for us. Our sleep schedule is flipped backward, and everyone there is super cool about that. Hazards of the job, you know?”

“I fucked Randy once,” Mel says, which has nothing to do with food, but I’m here for it.

“No one has fucked Randy, Mel. Not even you,” A new guy says as he enters the room. “No one even knows who Randy is.” At first glance, he’s nothing special. Brownish hair, brownish eyes, tallish but not remarkably so. You know the type. I mean, with Bael and Mel in the room outshining everything with their presence, I should be forgiven for thinking this guy is ordinary. But on a closer look, I can see he has something about him, some inner presence that makes him a contender for second-most dazzling person in the room. Plus, he has these big-ass hands that you know could finger-bang you straight into the sun.

Yes, I’m always this thirsty. It's the testosterone, remember? I am nothing but a helpless bystander in a hormone stampede and should really be fucked out of my misery.

I discreetly peek at Bael’s hands, and the new guy’s hands become dead to me. Bael’s hands are big too, but instead of having a lanky frame like the new guy, he has a matching body to go with his huge hands. I ogle Bael’s hands, enjoying how strong they appear. They’re just the right side of veiny, and my eyes follow said veins up his forearms where they disappear under the soft, cream-colored sleeves he has rolled up at the elbow.

“Where are your fishnets?” I whisper to Bael while the new guy argues with Mel about someone named Randy. I’m not following their conversation, but I think they might be fighting over him or something.

Bael gives me a sunny smile, and I realize I have his complete attention. It’s like the chaotic conversation around us isn’t even happening. I see myself reflected in his warm, brown eyes, and somehow, I know without a doubt that I have one hundred percent of his focus.

It’s intoxicating.

“I changed clothes while you were asleep,” he says. Something about that makes Bael’s eyes go wide in alarm, and he starts speaking rapidly. “I was in a different room, though, I promise. But I didn’t leave you alone in a strange room. I kept the door open.” Bael’s expression grows more alarmed, and his cheeks are pink now. “Not that I was peeping on you while you were asleep when I was naked! I would never?—”

“Bael, I’m going to rescue you from yourself now, and I expect to be promoted to first best friend status for it,” Mel says, which is pretty impressive. I wasn’t paying attention to what they were saying with the new guy, so the fact that they were paying attention to me and Bael speaks to a level of multitasking I can’t claim ownership of. Mel goes up to the new guy, twines their arm with his, and says, “Shay, darling. Please introduce us to the ravishing woman standing in the doorway over there.”

Shay, the new guy, scowls. “Just because you didn’t get to fuck Randy doesn’t mean I’ll let you fuck my mom.”

The woman in the doorway laughs and enters the room. “Sweetheart, I think I love your friends already. Also, it’s amusing to think you have any say over my sex life.” She pushes her son out of the way and holds out a hand to Mel. When Mel takes it, she lifts their hand to her lips and kisses it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Please, call me Laura.”

Mel’s face flushes, and it makes me think they aren’t usually on the receiving end of aggressive flirting, but they hold their own by coming back with, “I have a bottle of something ridiculously expensive in my room we can share if you’d like to get to know me better.”

“You can share it out here with all of us,” Shay says firmly.

If he was using that voice on me, I’d probably be all like, “Okie-dokie, sir! Whatever you say.” Because I’m not a leader. I’m not really a follower either, though. More like a meanderer. I sort of drift through life bumping against the boundaries my people have set up for me. If someone uses a nice, firm voice on me to enforce those boundaries, something in my tummy goes all fizzy and funny, and I am pretty much ready to do whatever they say.

Neither Mel nor Laura are followers because they ignore Shay completely.

“I have a private balcony with a gorgeous view of the city,” Mel says, taking Laura lightly by the elbow and gesturing down a hallway.

Shay stands there frozen as the two walk away, and he doesn’t snap out of it until Travis says, “Looks like your room is free now, Shay. You and Bael can bunk together, and Wren can stay in Bael’s room.”

Shay throws Travis a withering glare before tearing down the hallway after Mel and Laura.

“Anyway, I wasn’t peeping on you in your sleep,” Bael says anxiously and takes my hand. Then he drops my hand like it burned him.

I’m getting a ton of mixed signals here, right? It’s not just me?

Maybe it’s because I need a shower…

There’s a loud smack from Travis’s side of the room, and I see him with a hand on his forehead. “Buddy.” Travis seems to lose words for a bit there, and I think maybe he’s tired. Being a night owl takes a toll on a person, especially when you keep seeing the sun come up from the wrong side of the day. When Travis removes his hand, he shakes his head and says, “If even Mel can’t wingman you, you’re fucked. You two sort yourselves out. I’m going to bed.”

Travis heaves himself off the couch, stretches his arms over his head, and yawns. For a little dude, he’s pretty jacked, so the yawn is a visually informative one. He also has a teeny, tiny happy trail.

Everyone in this place is a solid fucking ten. Where am I? Queer Heaven?

I mean, I’m just assuming it’s a queer-friendly space given what Gwen told me earlier and Mel’s sheer existence. And maybe everyone here isn’t queer, but even so, the eye candy alone is on the same level as the cast of The Mummy for causing a sexuality identity crisis.

Hell, I bet even Elvis the ghost is hot, but I’m not leaving Bael’s side in order to find out.

Because, folks? As much as you’ve been getting my running commentary on the hot-ass people I’ve met tonight, none of them hold a candle to Bael. He’s not even on the scale. He’s got his own scale and no one else is allowed anywhere near it. Mel is pretty spectacular, but there’s just something about Bael that makes him seem more real than anyone I’ve ever met.

I notice these people because I’m alive and horny, but I already know who the prize is here.

But—and here’s the cold, harsh truth part—I’m pretty sure Bael is way out of my league. It’s okay, though. I’m used to that. I’m a weird little dude. I’m an over-sheltered, under-socialized house cat, and I know without a doubt that I don’t belong here.

I’m stupid, but I’m not that stupid.

So I content myself with watching Travis strut his eye-candy self past us and sneakily bask in Bael’s hard, warm body next to me. I don’t need to do anything about my horny thoughts. I’m just lucky to be here.

“Soooo… food? Gwen told me to give you stuff that’s easy on your stomach, so maybe not a sandwich.” Bael’s inner glow dims a little. “I’m sorry for forgetting and letting Travis give you candy earlier. I’ll get better at this, I promise.”

“Better at what?”

“Taking care of you.”

Oh dear. My face burns as I realize I basically threw myself at a stranger and gave him no choice but to be my replacement Kai. It doesn’t matter how beautiful he is, he doesn’t deserve having the Wren Show shoved on him without warning.

“You don’t actually have to take care of me,” I say quickly. “I can go home now.”

“Home?” The level of doubt Bael’s expression shows makes me think he has low confidence in my ability to survive on my own.

I think about my chances of making it home without collapsing from hunger and ask, “Do you mind if I grab something to eat here first?” Even if I do manage to make it home, I’ll be back to square one—in my condo alone without food.

“Hmm…” Bael’s forehead is pinched in concern. “You should definitely stay and eat, but you don't look very steady right now. Why don't you take a nap after eating, and we'll figure out what to do next?”

This sounds like a fabulous idea to me, so I shamelessly agree and say, “This is a genius plan.”

A little bit more time in Bael's presence is something I can't pass up, and getting to sleep in that bed again? Yeah, that's what we're going to be doing today. I'll try to hunt down my shame later after I don't feel so shaky.

I tell Bael that I don't really care what we eat, and that he should order since it seems like he's familiar with this Randy's place. While we wait for the food, Bael info dumps what seems to be his entire life story on me. I'm telling you, this is the sweetest guy in the world.

He’s the same age as me, but unlike me, he didn't have the best life starting out. According to him, he was trailer park trash. I don't really know what that is, so I have to ask.

“It means I lived in a busted old RV surrounded by fifty other trailers and campers in various stages of falling apart. All the kids in the neighborhood ran wild and free like a pack of wolves. In hindsight, it was pretty fun.”

Then he tells me stories involving makeshift pirate forts in the woods and stealing fruit from a local orchard. He assures me that the owner was a total asshole and had it coming.

Bael’s sad smile makes me think that it was a lot less fun than he was making it out to be. I get the impression that he was stealing fruit because he was hungry and not because he was a bratty child.

I don't tell him anything personal about myself because other than losing my parents, my childhood was idyllic. My family had plenty of money, we lived in a nice house in a nice neighborhood, and my parents made sure I made friends with ‘all the right people.’ After they died, I had Marty and then Shelly and Kai to look after me. It seems like a shitty thing to talk about after learning about Bael’s past, so I say nothing about my childhood.

When he asks me questions about my life, I get flustered and go quiet. Then Bael gives me the softest smile and changes the subject. I don’t really know what to do with that, but Bael is happy to carry the lion’s share of the conversation, and listening to him talk is fascinating, so it isn't like the conversation is struggling.

We also have a startling amount of things in common. We both love retro video games, vintage eighties toys, and cheesy old B movies. I lose track of how much time we spend falling down that rabbit hole together, but the experience is magical. No one else I know is as into this stuff as deeply as I am, and I’m pretty sure I could do this with Bael forever.

When the food arrives, we're chatting away like old friends. I know this sounds crazy, but it feels like I've known him forever.

That's probably why after we finish eating, I allow him to shuffle me back into his room to take a shower before I go back to sleep.

“I don't think you should be alone in there in case you pass out again,” Bael says. His face goes bright red and he hurries to add. “I'm not trying to creep on you, I swear.”

I don't tell him that I'd be okay with it if he wants to creep on me a little bit. Instead, I say, “I promise I'll be fine. I feel much better after eating.”

“At least leave the door open so I'll hear you if something's wrong. I may be new at this caretaking thing, but I’m pretty sure letting you drown in the shower is a huge no-no.”

So that's what we do. And if you think I was horny before, let me tell you that it’s nothing compared to being naked in Bael’s bathroom knowing he’s listening to me with nothing between us but some mist.

By the time I finish and I'm wrapped in the massive, fluffy robe Bael has in his bathroom, I'm shaky again, and I realize he was right when he suggested I stay and sleep some more.

When I leave the bathroom, Bael is right there with hover hands, looking like he wants to snatch me up off the ground and carry me to the bed.

That might be my imagination, though.

He does, however, stick me in his bed with at least a dozen cat stuffies. He's got me tucked in so tight I can barely move. He hovers a bit more before finally saying, “Okay, I’ll let you get some rest now,” and then he moves away from the bed.

Now, you’d think that after such a wild night, I wouldn’t be able to sleep, but with a full belly and the weight of half a toy store’s worth of stuffies on me, I was out like a light. The last thing I saw was Bael stretching out on the couch closest to the bed.