It was Tuesday. A whole new day. That meant that the strange man from yesterday probably wouldn't be back, right?
Phil really needed to get dressed. There was one problem, and that was a lack of access to his actual clothes. He didn’t mind wearing his Dalek boxers. He liked them! But they were a little breezy for wearing on the Tube!
“Success, without integrity, means nothing.”
“Integrity, without ‘tegrity’, means ‘in’,” Phil said in return, just as sagely. He rubbed his forehead, and tried again to squeeze past the tall, muscly blond guy standing right in front of his wardrobe. The weirdest part was how this guy was talking without moving his lips.
He looked over his shoulder at Phil, and did an earnest kind of smoulder. Still didn’t move. “Your belongings don’t make you a better man.”
“If a left footed man falls in the forest, does he make a noise?”
“Your behaviour does.”
“It was the best of times, it was the Oziest of times,” Phil said in return, sulkily pulling his index finger out of his nostril – he was multi-tasking, all right? He could wait and scavenge at the same time!
Wednesday was weird, too.
“You know what’s even better?”
Phil jumped violently, splashing water – and his favourite rubber duck – over the side of the bath. At least his iPad was safe in its little plastic cover. A beautiful woman sat on his loo. Dark hair, dark eyes. The lid was down and she had black knickers to go with her black bra. So she probably wasn’t doing a wee. He wasn’t sure he was up to dealing with a beautiful woman in his bathroom doing a wee while he was trying to relax in the bath with something highly intellectual.
She continued, “When a guy cries. It makes me melt.”
“Do you mind? I was only watching the Doctor Who Christmas special. I wasn’t crying!” he said, tearfully. “Shut up!”
“Everything else just washes away.”
“That’s the idea! I’m in the bath!”
“There’s nothing to hide.”
He hurriedly scooted some more of the bubbles down towards his crotch region.
Thursday – Thursday could’ve been worse.
On Thursday, Phil got back from a gig at three in the morning. He couldn’t sleep, so he sat on the rug pretending to be in the back of a fancy car that he’d made out of settee cushions, as usual. Except the car screeched to a halt, which wasn’t as usual. It wasn’t very as usual at all!! A man appeared on a motorbike.
In his living room. OK. . . fine. . .
He opened the car door, which was a cushion on top of another cushion. “Who the hell are you?”
The man took off his helmet, and smouldered at him. He was incredibly attractive. Lean and muscled, broad shoulders. Blue eyes. A beard that was obviously sculpted to fit his face just right. He stalked towards the car. None of this was usual! What was he supposed to do!
“This is a single passenger car,” Phil blustered, but the man made an anguished face, and Phil sighed. He beckoned, and the man smiled, climbing into the car. Phil leaned back as the man covered him with his body.
Damn. He was a really good kisser.
He was allowed to get dressed on Thursday, which was a plus. The actual dress in question was unexpected.
A purr of a voice. He looked up at the woman, and immediately felt daunted by her intelligence and beauty, but luckily he’d never needed to feel like a worthwhile human being before. He could cope.
“I can do this with my eyebrows,” he said intelligently.
“What if you said ‘si’?”
He looked down at himself again. This dress was quite good for his cleavage, but –
“I like the red, sure, but I don’t think sleeveless is my favourite.”
He tried waving bye-bye again, and watched as his arm fat continued to jiggle afterwards for a full minute.
On Saturday, he was beginning to get more and more twitchy. Some of the last few days had been kind of OK, but he was very much over strange people materialising in his damn house. So, taking a big bite of his mayonnaise, tuna, crisps, mayonnaise, cheese, carrot, and mayonnaise sandwich ended up with him blindly fumbling for the sink with a faceful of mayonnaise.
“Silkience. What you need, is what you get.”
Gentle fingers, rubbing the mayonnaise into his forehead.
He jumped violently, and the sandwich went everywhere.
“Hell with this. I’m going out!”
Sunday brought with it a handsome man with glasses and a humongous tinfoil catamaran, which Phil woke up next to and in, respectively. He peered up at the guy, wondering just what had happened to his bed.
The man leaned closer to him. He wore a well-tailored suit that probably cost more than Phil’s entire wardrobe. Not a hair out of place. He looked like he moisturised, even in the places that didn’t show. Phil frowned as the man opened his mouth. He was about to say something suave, wasn’t he. Phil sodding hated it when men said suave things to him.
“Hold this cat,” he said, and Phil sighed, opening his arms for the damn cat. It was orange, and it purred, pushing itself up under his chin.
There was a tickle at his feet. He peered over the top of the cat. Some kind of hipster troll was washing the end of the catamaran.
“Fair enough,” Phil said, and let his eyes close again, trying to stave off the panic attack. This was horrible, but maybe he could get some more sleep.
On Monday, that same man was in his kitchen with a plateful of vegetables and a single egg again.
Phil’s lower lip wobbled.
“Heyyyy. Morning. I finished early-”
Phil grabbed the pepper and threw it away. He hurled himself into the guy’s arms, bursting into tears.
“-so I popped. Back. And. . . made. . . . . . . . .”
“You’re here,” Phil said. “Don’t leave again!”
“Breakfast?” A long pause, and then Phil felt the guy’s hand come up to rub his bare back in slow, careful circles. His other hand settled across the waistband of Phil’s shorts. “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t need to. I suppose I’ve been afraid that you wouldn’t want me and my friend to stay. I’ve been – I’ve been afraid to love.”
“Don’t be afraid,” Phil said fervently. “If you can love me in spite of my jiggly arms, then I can learn to love multivitamins - Wait, your friend?”
A third hand tapped Phil on the nose, and he screamed.
She smiled at him. Still less scary than the mayonnaise lady.
“. . .fine, she can stay, too!”