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It’s a few months back on Earth, and Noel finds himself with a lover. A short man who laughs easy, and who takes Noel in stride. He’s Richard, Ricky, Dicky, Darling, Doll, Hey Handsome, Loverboy. He can’t be seen with Noel, and not for the usual reasons. He can’t be seen with Noel, but not because no-one else can see him, you understand? Only because they wouldn’t like what they saw.
So Ricky, Darling lets himself be caught elsewhere. In the darkness of a speakeasy. In the park, after all the world has gone to bed. Never in Noel’s apartment, and never in his own. Of course.
It’s okay, he wouldn’t like Noel’s roommates anyway. Charlie’s always with him, of course, the beaten dog, the sparrow on the windowsill. And the others, too. The one who keeps the lights on all night, with a stash of spare bulbs under the sink. The one who counts the floorboards and measures them heel-to-toe, but keeps his boots on in case the wood turns nails-up for a laugh. The one who whistles in the shower to hear it echo back. The one who carefully unscrewed their bathroom mirror and dropped it off the fire escape.
It’s a full house, is all. Not a great place for guests.
Noel’s on the train, and the trees outside flash past in the normal way. Loverboy’s note is tucked in his wallet, perfectly legible. The address is one that exists, and Noel doesn’t check the map again. Even Charlie’s happy, with a grin so big Noel can barely keep it off his face.
His watch shows ten-till-four when he steps off the train. It shows four-oh-five when he hops in Dicky’s car, four-thirty-two when they crunch over the carpet of pine needles outside the cabin, and four-fifty-nine when Charlie gets his mouth on that handsome prick. At six-twenty-six Noel wets a washcloth and kisses the sweat off Ricky, Darling’s skin.
“Thank you, Chuckaboo.”
The beaten dog’s ears perk up. The sparrow rustles its feathers.
---
“Hey, Handsome, your shirt is awful comfy.”
“Keep it warm for me, then, won’t’cha? It looks better on you anyway.”
Noel gives a little dip and a spin. The shirt is too short in the sleeves, but roomy enough to hang just below his ass. Ricky bites his lip and blows a kiss.
“I think that’s your color, stranger.”
It’s butter-yellow. Noel tells Charlie to take it easy.
---
They eat dinner. It’s simple by necessity: fruit and toasted cheese sandwiches, hot tea on the wood stove. Charlie wants meat, but he always wants meat, and Noel can rarely stomach it. He’s glad there’s no icebox out here.
“That hits the spot,” his lover sighs. “I was so hungry, I could’a taken a bite out of you.”
‘You could try,’ Charlie thinks.
Noel covers for him. “Nah, I don’t taste very good.”
“That’s a lie.” Ricky leers. Noel swallows his tea. It burns on the way down, just like it should.
---
They walk. The sky is dark, and the white of the moon is the white of the stars. Charlie tells jokes and Noel says them aloud. Dicky laughs his easy laugh, loud as he wants. There’s no-one around to hear him. It’s ten-twelve and Charlie wants to get his Loverboy on all fours again right here and now, but Noel’s had enough splinters in his ass, thank you very much, so he thinks they ought to mosey back to that nice warm bed instead.
The woods are still. Green and black all tangled up, nothing to see here, except – there. Yellow leaves. What month is it? July? Too early for yellow, Charlie is certain. And all around it, pine and only pine. Charlie closes his eyes. Opens them. It hasn’t moved, but it hasn’t disappeared either.
“Say, does that tree look like a tree to you?” Noel asks. It’s almost a joke.
“Hmm?” Dicky, Handsome, doesn’t know where to look. Charlie points.
“That one. There.”
Dicky peers into the forest. The tree boasts its sickly yellow.
“I… don’t see it.”
“The tree, the only tree that’s there! Look!” Charlie checks, but the rest are playing nice.
Dicky isn’t playing nice. He’s looking up at Noel instead. He gives half a smile, like it’s okay, Charlie, it’s just a fucking tree, and he says, “You’re an odd duck, aren’t you, chuck?”
There is no wind. Yellow leaves sway.
“What?”
“The trees are normal, Noel, let’s-”
“What did you call me?” Charlie’s arm is still raised. He lowers it, and feels the chill of sweat on his palms.
“An odd duck, love.”
“No. Chuck.” A bird has taken flight in Charlie’s chest, beating against his ribs, trying to force its beak up his throat.
Richard smiles again, straight white teeth, teeth made for smiling. Charlie bares his in turn, chips and all, teeth made for biting.
“Chuck, yeah. Chuck, sweetheart, dear, what’s wrong with you?” Richard asks, as if he doesn’t know. Trying to cover his tracks. Well. Charlie’s onto him now.
“How’d you find me?” He asks. His voice is steady.
“Noel, honey, what do you mean? Will you tell me what’s going on?” Richard takes a step closer. Charlie takes a step back. His foot hits something heavy.
“It’s Noel again, is it?” He says dryly.
“That’s your name,” says Richard, helpless. “I don’t know why you’re so upset.”
“Who else have you told about me?” This, at least, he needs to know.
“What? No one! Who would I tell?”
“Waiting to make sure before you sell me out, is that it? You think you’ll be rewarded, huh? You have no idea, buddy. No fucking idea what waits for you.”
Richard is afraid now. “I don’t – no – what? Ch- Noel, please -”
The stone is in his hand, and Richard is on the ground. The stone is in Richard, and the stone is red, and there’s no-one else around for miles.
Yellow like sand in his eye. The tree waits, same as before. Its leaves wink at him, and Charlie runs.