Composed at Randy’s (Diner Days)

9. Wren

Chapter 9

Wren

“ I ’m fine!” I laugh and hold out my hands to ward off yet another stuffed cat. How many of these does Bael have?

After a quick check up and the all clear from Gwen, I was finally able to convince her to let Bael back in.

He's visibly relieved when Gwen reassures him I didn’t have a major setback, and that I just shouldn't be exerting too much energy for the next day or two unless I want to take forever to fully recover.

This information puts at least half a dozen of my fantasies out of the running, but I keep that to myself. Moderate amounts of activity though… No. Nothing is going to happen, so I can keep those fantasies where they belong. Fantasy Wren is perfectly fine, after all, and can do whatever he wants.

Even though Gwen assures Bael several times that I won’t explode if someone sneezes near me or a light breeze hits me the wrong way, he's still adorably anxious. I think he might be afraid that I'll die if he doesn't do everything in his power to make me happy. Gwen finally washes her hands of us when she realizes that none of assurances are affecting Bael’s actions. She gives me a “Good luck.” accompanied with a grimace and leaves me to my fate.

“This is a nice change from how Kai treats me,” I comment after I accept a fifth stuffie. “He likes to boss me around and make me do things I don't want to do.”

Bael pauses his cat piling activities. “Who's Kai?”

Uhhhh… How do I spin this? I refuse to admit that I have a babysitter because I’m complete garbage at taking care of myself.

“He’s a guy… that I live with sometimes.”

“Not all the time?”

“No. I only live with him when I really need to. He’s gone right now or else I probably wouldn’t have gotten so hungry.” It’s already more than I can bear admitting, and I know it makes me sound unbearably useless, so I stop talking.

Bael doesn’t need my life story. He had to live through actual poverty. What does he think now that I’ve admitted to being too pathetic to remember to eat?

He's frowning, but before I’m able to really work up to a nice, healthy freak out, he says, “He didn’t do a good job taking care of you when you needed it.”

I jump to defend Kai because he’s the fucking best. “It’s not his fault. His dad is sick right now, and I told him to go.”

“So, what? It’s okay for you to suffer just because someone else is suffering?”

“I’m pretty sure Kai’s dad was suffering more than me. Besides, I really should be able to take care of myself, so it’s my own fault for ending up like this.”

My stomach growls and I look down at it in surprise. Considering how much I’d eaten earlier I should be set for a while. It must be because it was all healthy food. That stuff never lasts me for long.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” Bael announces, and he scoops me off the bed. It’s so sudden that at least three cat stuffies come with us as we leave his room.

We’re in the main area, trailing cats behind us, and Bael announces, “We’re going to Randy’s.”

He doesn’t stop the entire time. He just keeps carrying me until we’re out the door. I stick my tongue out at the meat walls as we sail past them. Neither of them will look me in the eye, and I know it’s because I put the fear of god into them. Any and all survivors of a Wren attack know better than to try again. Unless they’re Allie, but she tickles and that’s not fighting fair.

I’m not sure why I’m so good at scaring people off. I don’t think of myself as a particularly strong person, but no one ever bothers me twice. Kai has no answers for me anytime I bring it up. Likely he has no idea either.

It’s not until we reach the elevator and the entire band plus Harvey and Laura are jammed in with us that I realize I’m completely shoeless.

“Wait!” I cry, and then point to my feet, kicking them wildly. “I don't know what kind of place Randy's is, but I doubt they’ll let people in without shoes.”

Bael gets this funny look on his face, and I'm starting to recognize it as his oh shit I fucked up again face.

“Harvey.” Bael gives an imperious snap of his fingers and says nothing else, as if he expects Harvey to know exactly what he wants without explaining it.

I guess he does, though, because Harvey says, “On it,” and then dives into his phone.

“What happened to your shoes in the first place?” Travis asks. Then he yelps, because for some mysterious reason Shay slaps the shit out of the back of his head.

“I forgot to put them on.” I become the human embodiment of the sweat drop emoji and consider burying my face in Bael’s chest, but we don't know each other that well, so I hold it in and face the shame head on.

“It's okay, Wren. No one cares whether you have shoes or not. I've got you covered.” Bael gives me a little squeeze, and my cheeks pink right up. It's too bad that we're not in the chest-burying stage of our friendship yet because I’m losing the battle with facing all of these emotions without my sketchbook.

Bael is super nice and carries me all the way to their limo. It's nothing special as limos go. I don't own one or anything, but I'm used to museums and galleries sending them for me every time Shelly makes me attend a thing. They always have my favorite snacks in them and some pretty cool video games. This one doesn't even have a PlayStation, so, you know. Meh.

It's around this time that I start wondering what the hell Bael and his merry band of fabulous misfits do for a living. They certainly aren't hurting for cash, and Laura was suspiciously ambiguous when talking about it earlier.

They probably don’t kill people for a living, right? I should probably ask just to make sure.

“So, just out of curiosity, how many people die after meeting you all?” Yep, that's me, I'm a let's rip that Band-Aid off kind of guy. Except when I'm not. It's all or nothing with me, really. When I have to ask awkward questions, I have to go at it at a run, otherwise those questions might never get asked.

I’m still sitting in Bael’s lap because we're all packed in here like sardines, so it's really obvious when he goes completely still.

Shit. What if they really are killers, and I just hurt their feelings? I practically trip over my tongue to try and fix it, saying, “I’m not job-shaming, I promise! I'm sure some people really have it coming, and I bet a lot of perfectly nice people have to kill the occasional person for their job. I mean, no job is great all the time, right? I know mine has some downsides.”

The inside of the limo is quieter than my sex life right now, but I'm pretty sure I can't fuck this problem away.

“Um… You all… dress really well for the mafia?” I know I'm reaching at this point, but no one else is talking, So what else am I supposed to do? At least I'm saying nice stuff about them, so if I hurt their feelings earlier, they'll know that I wasn't trying to be mean.

“You think we’re part of the mafia?” Travis is sitting cross-legged in the seat across from me and Bael. His elbows are on his knees, and both fists are propping up his chin. He seems utterly captivated.

I think this means the conversation is going well.

“…yes?” I notice that Harvey seems to be looking green around the gills, so maybe the conversation isn't going that well. “It's okay if you are. Sometimes organized crime gets a really bad rap, but I think a lot of people know that. Like, I read an article once about a mob boss who has an entire chain of soup kitchens in his city and how he does more for the homeless population than the government does.”

The limo gets a lot more active than my sex life after I say that.

Mel, Travis, and Shay all burst into laughter. Like, howling, falling over each other, tears streaming down their face kind of laughter.

Harvey speak/yells over the cacophony. Did you know that was possible? Because up until now I didn't know somebody could manage to be loud and calm all at the same time. It's an impressive skill set.

Anyway, Harvey’s got that ability in spades because it’s very clear when he says, “I can assure you we are not part of the mafia.”

Bael is suspiciously quiet, but his fingers are tapping out a rhythm on my hip, so I know he's got something going on inside his head.

“You're not… you guys aren't part of a cult, are you?” If they are, it's probably a really cool one considering their lifestyle, but I know for a fact that neither Kai, Marty, nor Shelly will allow me to be part of a cult no matter how cool it is.

I eyeball the door handle and try to judge how fast the limo is going. We're not going that fast. If I bail out right now, I bet I'll be okay.

I think Bael notices what I'm doing because his hands grasp my hips firmly. I guess I'm not going anywhere for a little while.

“How the hell are you still alive right now, Wren?” I'm not sure how Travis managed to say that considering that he's laughing so hard I'm concerned he's going to swallow his tongue.

“Bless your little heart,” Laura says to me, and she reaches out like she wants to pat me on the head. At the last minute, Bael’s hand intercepts hers.

“You need consent before touching someone,” Bael says in a growly voice that does amazing things to my nervous system. He wraps his arms around me tightly and tucks my head under his chin.

“It's okay,” I reassure him. “I've gotten used to the fact that everyone seems to want to pet me. I guess that just happens to people who are travel sized.”

Bael hmphs and squeezes me a little tighter.

Shay snorts. “Bael’s hypocrisy aside, I would like to expand on Travis's comment just now. Wren, did you really think the best time to ask a large group of people if they're murderers was to wait until you were trapped in their limo with them?” He says this slowly, like he's trying to spell something out to a 5-year-old.

Hmm… He does have a point.

I tap my chin thoughtfully—as much as a person can when someone huge is wrapped around them like a boa constrictor—and finally land on saying, “I think you would have already killed me if you were going to, so I'm probably fine.”

The limo stops, and everyone stares at me until the door opens next to me and Bael.

“Are we getting out now?” I ask, because no one seems to be moving, and I really am starting to get incredibly hungry.

Bael motions towards the person who opened the door, and the guy hands me a pair of sassy ankle boots and cute little ankle socks. I put them on, and they look absolutely perfect paired with the makeshift dress I'm wearing.

“No accessories?” I ask cheekily, but when Bael says, “Harvey,” in that Lord of the Manor voice from earlier, I rush to say, “I'm kidding! I don't need accessories, just food.”

It doesn't escape my notice that Harvey still vanishes into his phone anyway.

Bael gets out of the limo with me in tow. He tries to princess-carry me, but I kick my feet until he puts me down. He keeps a steadying hand on my back as I take my own weight, and my legs do a little wobble. Seriously, it was the tiniest wobble ever, but Bael still notices and says, “Nope,” and scoops me back up.

“Consent really is a wonderful thing, isn't it?” Travis says randomly.

“I fully agree, my friend. One never can be too careful about body rules when it comes to strangers.” Mel says as they extend a hand to Laura to help her out of the limo.

“I think so too,” I agree. “You've all been incredibly accommodating in that. Other than Allie and the meat walls, that is. You should talk to them about it.”

“Meat walls?” Shay gives a little laugh.

“They’ve been, ah… spoken to,” Harvey assures me.

“No one will ever touch you without your permission again, Wren. I promise.” Bael’s vice is as solemn as the grave.

“Thank you,” I say, and snuggle into Bael as covertly as possible while he carries me into the cutest little diner I have ever seen.

Actually, it looks kind of familiar. At least the outside of it does. “I recognize these neon lights. This is where I passed out, isn't it?”

Travis opens the door for Bael and waves us inside. “Yep! If you'd made it inside, you would have found a good meal whether you could pay for it or not. The people here are always ready to help a queer person—or any person, really—in crisis.” He points at a board on the wall covered in receipts. “These are all meals that people have already paid for. If someone needs food but can't afford it, they can just grab one of these and bring it to the counter.”

“That would have been handy,” I murmur. I’d totally forgotten my wallet right along with my shoes, so a policy like that would be perfect for dumbasses as well as poor people. I'll come here with Kai in the future and buy enough meals to last the folks on this side of Boston until Christmas.

I order the thought to dig into my brain as far as it can go so I’ll remember to actually do it.

Once that's done, I take in my surroundings.

Fuck, this place is cool. It’s like queer Elvis stormed in here and exploded, splattering the walls with retro fabulousness.

Marty would absolutely love this place. I have to tell him about it as soon as he gets back because there's no way he wouldn't have dragged me here a million times if he knew about it.

Mel and Laura commandeer a huge corner booth, and Bael steers us toward it, but then the weirdest thing happens before we make it there.

A lovely human marches right up to us and stops a respectable distance away. “Excuse me,” they say. “I’m Avery, and that’s Myles over there pretending like he’s not as excited as I am right now. Would it be rude of me to ask you to sign my…” The lovely human goes still and then pats themselves down. They have no pockets on their dress, so I’m not sure what they’re looking for.

“Here, you can use mine.” Harvey reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a marker, handing it to Avery. I see he has more than one in there. Does Harvey have a lot of coloring related emergencies in his life?

“Thanks! I still don't have something for you to sign though. Um, can you sign my dress?” Avery holds the marker out to Bael hopefully.

“No one ever asks me to sign their dress. Why does Bael always get the hot ones?” Travis grouses, but I can tell he’s just doing it to be sassy.

A fascinating change comes over Bael. His soft, puppy dog edges fade away and morph into something more aloof and wolf like. “Nice to meet you, Avery. Where do you want me to sign your dress?” Bael’s voice is a low, yummy rumble, and I’m struck once again by how sinful he sounds.

He makes like he’s going to take the marker, but then he realizes his arms are full with my illustrious person, and he goes full-on confused puppy dog again.

“You can put me down,” I say. “I’ll be fine.” I may be happy in Bael’s arms, but right now I'm mystified by what's going on, and I need to know what will happen next.

Bael frowns a little before setting me on my feet next to Travis. He doesn't let go of me until I’m standing steadily on my own. He tells Travis, “Don't let him fall,” and turns back to Avery.

“Oh my. Your voice really sounds that way. I mean, okay! Can you sign under my shoulder strap?”

Bael gives Avery what can only be described as a professionally sexy smile and signs the dress with a flourish.

“Thank you so much! Myles! I told you he’d be nice!” Avery gives us all a brilliant smile and turns to go.

“What the…? What was that?” I watch Avery’s back as they hurry over to the table where the pretending-to-be-incurious young man is. When Avery reaches the table, their hand reaches out and connects with the young man’s before they even sit down, and they snuggle into his side. They huddle together and speak in excited whispers.

“That was one of our fans.” Bael’s face is sheepish and his body relaxes in some indefinable way. His voice is still hot, but it doesn't have that cutting edge to it anymore. This is probably a good thing, because if he talks like that all the time, I will probably die from constant nosebleeds.

“I didn’t know cults have fans.” Though if it's a cult of Bael’s voice, I can see the appeal.

“We’re not a cult!” Travis snaps.

“Whoops. Sorry. I didn't know the mafia had fans.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. We're none of those things. We're a band.” Travis stomps away to the table Mel and Laura grabbed for us. Shay is sitting with them comfortably like he’d completely let go of the whole bro, you fucked my mom thing. Good for him.

“An extremely famous one, so keep your voices down,” Harvey says, focused on his phone and typing away. He manages to follow Travis to the booth and sit down next to him without looking up a single time.

Bael ushers me to scoot in next to Mel on the other side and sits next to me.

“A band named after Bael, if you want to be specific. We’re called Baelfire.” Mel’s voice is a sexy purr directed right at me, and I give them a look. Mel can be as hot as they want, but they’ve already bagged a mom and an assistant today. Mel doesn’t need to add me to their list of conquests.

Everyone at the table looks at me expectantly. That’s when I finally connect the dots.

“Holy shit, you’re a band? Thank fuck! That's way better than the glitter mafia. I ran out of nice things to say about people who kill people for a living ten minutes ago, and since my phone is dead, I can't google for help to find more.”

Shay laughs. “Jesus, Bael, he’s like your mini-me.”

Mel slams the table with both hands in excitement. “Oh my god, Wren, I love you so much right now. I vote to rename the band Glitter Mafia immediately.”

“No,” Harvey says absently without looking up from his phone. I get the feeling he's used to vetoing a lot of ideas from this group. I wonder what it takes to faze him?

“Yes, please, please, yes,” Bael says, which is a bit of a surprise considering that the band is named after him. When I quirk an eyebrow at him, he sighs. “It's enough that I was given a stupid name. The rest of the world doesn't need to keep reminding me of it.”

“Are you kidding me? Your full name is Baelfire? That’s the coolest name ever! When’s your birthday? Please tell me it’s nine months after the summer solstice.”

“You know what my name means?”

I'm about to tell him that I did a crazy amount of research on Midsummer for an art piece I did, but considering what the piece sold for, it's going to come off sounding like bragging, and this conversation isn't about me. It's about making sure Bael knows exactly how cool he is, including his name.

For about five seconds, I pondered over choosing Baelfire as my new name when I transitioned due to my Midsummer research. I ultimately decided I wasn't grand enough to pull it off. I think Wren suits me perfectly, and I don't give a flying shit how many other trans people have chosen this name. I love it.

“My birthday is February second,” Bael says, face flushed.

He’s shy? Oh, kitten lords, be still my heart. “Wait, there are only seven months between midsummer and Candlemas. The math isn’t mathing enough for you to be a solstice-made baby unless you were a preemie.”

Bael gives me a sheepish shrug. He’s miles from the cool, confident man he was while signing a fan’s dress. I may actually die from how adorable this man is.

“No way. You were a preemie?” I gesture to his hulking frame. “No fucking way.”

“Bael really ate his Wheaties, didn't he?” Shay reaches across the table and punches Bael in the shoulder affectionately.

I whistle and say, “You certainly did.” Then I remember that Bael all but admitted to me earlier that when he was growing up, he didn't always have enough food, and my enthusiasm for the conversation vanishes.

I place a tentative hand on Bael’s forearm. “I love your name, Bael. It tells a story, and I can see why you all named the band after you. I think you should keep it.”

“We were always going to keep it,” Harvey states absently. Dude is, like, the most level-headed cat-herder I have ever met. He and Kai should get together one day and compare notes.

A lemon-yellow server comes up to our table. No, seriously, they’re a vibrant yellow from hair to shoes. I have mixed feelings about their aesthetic, but they appear happy with themselves, so I’m going to be happy for them.

“Hi, I’m Zo!” they announce to me specifically, treating the rest of our group like air, and then they’re off to the races telling me about every single thing that’s happened to them in the past week.

During a fascinating tale about a three-legged race with three eight-year-olds in one sack (why a sack???) that devolves into what happened to Zo at the grocery store when a group of grannies started a food fight at the salad bar, I managed to squeeze in my order. I ask for a lot of things because I plan to feed most of it to Bael. That preemie story hit me hard in the feels, ya’ll.

Bael also orders an ungodly amount of food, and I’m starting to think maybe we need a bigger table.

“Are you sure you should be eating so much heavy food right now?” Bael whispers to me when Zo whisks themselves away with our orders in hand.

“Ummm…” Well shit. I don’t want Bael to think I’m insane when he finds out I ordered extra food for him even though he’s a grown ass adult who can feed himself now. Not everyone is as bad as I am, after all. “Gwen said I needed to eat more, so I’m just following her orders. Can you finish anything I don’t eat? My eyes might be bigger than my stomach.”

Bael nodded vigorously. “You can order more right now if you want. Anything you want, you can have. You can have all the food.”

Everyone at the table starts offering me food too. Then they start offering other things like clothes and phones. Someone even offers to get me a plant. That last one was Bael. Harvey is the one who offers me a phone.

That’s weird, right? I’m pretty sure this is beyond the norm for social interactions between strangers. It's pretty sweet though, and who am I to judge? I’m weirdness incarnate.

When our food arrives, the conversation dies a swift but delicious death, though I'm pretty sure I really will be getting that plant at some point soon. It can go hang out with all the other plants Kai makes me water, so it will probably survive. Plus, it will remind me of Bael, so I don't mind adding another member to my plant family.

Now the whole booth is filled with copious amounts of snarfing noises as we all completely destroy our lunch. Can it be called lunch when the sun is setting? Meh, whatever.

I slow down with the eating way before everyone else does, but people keep sticking things on my plate anyway, and I'm starting to be concerned that maybe they all want to see if they can make me throw up. If so, this is a great way to do it.

“No, seriously, I don't need any more food.” I cover my plate with both hands to protect my poor stomach. “Give it to Bael. He has more room in him than I could ever hope to.”

I reach out and pat his rock-hard abs without thinking, and when I realize what I’ve done, my entire body grows hot with embarrassment.

And maybe some lust. Just that one touch was nothing shy of a religious experience, and as soon as I get home I'm going to do my best to recreate it on the largest canvas I can find.

Or maybe a sculpture would be a better medium to use. There’s no way to capture his yumminess without resorting to three-dimensional techniques.

Where was I?

Speaking of home, I really need to get back to mine before my people find out I'm gone and send out a search party.

“Thank you for the meal, everyone, but I really need to get going.” I make to stand up, but when I give Bael a nudge, he doesn’t move.

I nudge him again, only this time I put my weight into it, and I get the same result. It’s like trying to move a boulder.

“You don't have to leave.” Bael looks at me with those puppy eyes. “You can stay with us as long as you want.”

I want to say yes. I really do. Hell, he could ask me to do anything right now and I'd want to do it, but I really need to get back to my people.

“I’m sorry, but I need to go back now.” I give Bael’s magnificent bicep a poke, and he takes my hand.

“I know how hard it is to accept help, but you don't need to do things alone. Everyone needs help sometimes,” Bael’s eyes are soulful as they stare into mine.

“I could use some help getting home,” I admit. “Can you give me a ride?”

Bael exchanges glances with all of his friends. “Why don't we go back to the hotel just for tonight? We can work on setting you up tomorrow.”

Setting me up? What the hell does that mean?

That’s when a silver daddy comes up to the table. “Do you need help, kid? These guys are nice enough, but pushy,” He has a yummy accent that gives me French-Canadian vibes. There’s a cacophony of cries from the band denying his words, and he says, “Pipe down, I’m not talking to any of you. Kid, if you want to leave, you can. No one here is going to stop you.” Then Silver Daddy gives Bael a meaningful look. “Right?”

When Bael ignores him, Silver Daddy gives his leg an extremely vigorous poke. Okay, it was a kick. A hot ass old man just kicked the shit out of a gentle giant for me, just to make sure I'm okay.

Are these happy tears stinging my eyes? How are there so many decent people in this one small diner? Is this what Marty means when he tells me the whole world isn't as bad as I think it is, and it's worth getting out more and giving everyone a chance?

I'm definitely coming back to this dinner.

“Thank you, Silver Daddy, but I’m fine.”

The man gives me a startled laugh. “The name’s Archie, and I'm glad you're fine. Just make sure and let me or anyone else in this diner know if that changes. And you boys take this kid home right now if he wants you to. Got it?”

“You heard the man,” Harvey says, finally looking up from his phone. “We’re leaving early tomorrow, and you're all going to need some rest, so stop fucking around.”

I’m not really sure what that means, but I’ve got a lot of stuff on my mental plate, so I let it pass by without comment.

Bael gives a sulky affirmative and finally lets me push him out of the booth.

“I’ll settle up here,” Harvey tells us once he's ushered us into the limo. “You lot go straight back to the hotel as soon as you drop Wren off at home.”

“For god’s sake Harvey, he doesn’t have a home!” Travis shouts.

We all turn to gape at Travis.

Shay shoves him in the shoulder. “You can't just say it like that, dumbass.”

“Have some fucking manners, dude,” Mel sighs.

“Sweetie… no. Just. No.” Laura sounds so disappointed I'm tempted to apologize to her, and I don't even know what's happening right now.

“It’s okay even if you don’t have one, Wren. No one is looking down on you.” Bael is hovering over me and twisting his fingers together. “Do you want me to hit Travis for you? He's small, but I think I can do it without hurting him too much.”

“Hey!” Travis cries in indignation.

This is when all the pieces fall together for me. Don't look at me like that. I haven’t been anything but honest with you about my smooth brain issues. I have keepers and everything, remember?

No wonder everyone has been so nice to me and trying to jam food into me. They think I'm homeless.

Well, shit.

“I’m not homeless,” I say, looking down at my feet in embarrassment. What the actual fuck? I’m so far from homeless that it isn’t funny. I have rooms in my condo I don’t even know the purpose of, but Kai still makes us dust them anyway.

The sheer ridiculousness of the misunderstanding has my tongue completely tied.

But for some reason, no one here looks like they believe me.

“My name is Wren Dobrev. I’m an artist. You can look me up!” I don't blame them for not knowing who I am, because I had no clue who they were until about an hour ago.

“Rin Dobrev? Okay, let me check.” Harvey does stuff to his phone for a few minutes, and eventually, he looks up frowning, and says, “There’s no artist by that name.”

“What?” My mind whirls as I try to figure out what the hell is going on. I couldn’t have said it wrong, could I? I mean, smooth brain or no, even I’m not dumb enough to forget my own name.

“There’s a Wrensong, but?—”

“That’s me!” Or maybe I am dumb enough to forget my own name. I don’t use the name Marty gave me for my public persona because I think it's pretentious, so it’s a forgivable mistake, okay?

Bael gives me a kind smile. “There’s no shame in being poor. I’ve been in your place before, I promise. I know what it’s like to not know where your next meal will come from. You don’t need to pretend.”

“I’m... I’m…” I sputter a bit before I’m able to continue. “I’m not pretending! Why would I?”

“I don’t know. Some people get embarrassed about being homeless.”

“I can prove I'm not. Just take me home, and you’ll see.” When they see my fancy apartment, they’ll have no reason not to believe me.

Harvey washes his hands of all of us then by saying. “You all sort this out yourselves. I have something I need to take care of. Just make sure you all get at least a couple of hours of sleep or you're going to be hating life later. It was nice to meet you, Wren. Good luck with…” he waves at me vaguely and then closes the limo door on us.

Harvey raps his knuckles on the top of the limo, and we take off into the night.

It takes me a few minutes to remember my address. Okay, I don't actually manage to remember my address, but I am able to tell them the name of my apartment building, and that's enough for them to get me home. When we arrive outside, I say, “See? I have a home! You can even come and see it if you want.”

Bael gives me an uncertain nod. “Okay, Wren. Let’s go see it.”

So here's where everything goes South.

When we get to the door, the doorman won't let us in.

“No really,” I say to the trim, imposing little man before me. “I live on the top floor! I have for a few years now.”

“I've worked here for two years, and I've never seen you.”

“That’s…” Impossible? No, it's not impossible, because I'm such a weirdo that I only ever use my private elevator that goes right to the garage. Once this is all sorted out, I am going to stop being that weird little shut-in even if it kills me, because this is ridiculous.

I try everything I can think of to get past the door man, and nothing works. There’s no one in my apartment to vouch for me, I don't know anybody's number for him to call, and no one here recognizes me because I'm a freaking hermit.

I'm beyond annoyed, but at least it's good to know that the man is excellent at his job. I doubt anyone who doesn't belong here will ever get in. My apartment is so safe that it's even being protected from me. I'm sure I'll laugh about this someday in the future.

Far, far in the future.

But today I'm standing here in front of a group of really nice but extremely confused hot people, and I'm more embarrassed than I've been in my entire life.

Finally, Bael says, “Come home with us Wren. We’ll get this sorted out for you. I promise.”

What else can I do? Sleep on the streets just to save face? Now that would be doing the opposite of taking it easy, and there is no way I will be able to face any of my keepers if I’m a starving, exhausted mess when they finally find me.

I heave the biggest sigh my little body has in it and say, “Fine. But that really is my apartment building.”

No one responds to that, but no one gives me a sad, pitying look either, which I appreciate. These are just really nice people, and I'm lucky they found me.

It's really hard being stupid sometimes.