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Trixie stood outside the door, a green backpack on his back and a matching fanny pack slung across his chest. He hadn’t seen Katya’s new apartment yet, could hardly remember the last time he had set foot in Katya’s actual residence instead of his studio, and he felt the nervous energy coursing through his body. It raced alongside the anxiety and stress, ran laps around the exhaustion that threatened to wipe him out.
When no amount of lemon, ginger, or turmeric seemed to boost his system, when a Red Bull only left him with anxious jitters and not of an ounce of energy, he had finally accepted that it wasn’t just jet lag keeping him down. He thought back to the year prior when burnout had been looming over him and knew he couldn’t let it get that bad again. Especially when he still had so much to get through before he was looking at any form of a decent break. The knot of anxiety in his stomach had tightened and he found himself reaching for the phone, the call to Katya connecting before he even realized he had tapped the screen.
The door opened and he heard an enthusiastic “Hi!” before he felt Katya’s hand on his forearm.
Trixie quickly gave Katya a once over, taking in the bare feet, the black shorts, and the black t-shirt — no ball cap, no black wiglet in sight — and the side of his mouth turned up as he walked through the doorframe.
As Katya shut the door behind them Trixie took a step closer, his arms draping around Katya’s neck as he pulled him into a hug. “Hey,” Katya said as he maneuvered his arms under Trixie’s backpack to hug him back. Trixie exhaled, shoulders dropping as he let out the breath, and Katya squeezed him harder.
It had been a brief phone call, Trixie asking if he could come over with no explanation. And Katya didn’t need an explanation, not in general and not when he heard Trixie’s voice. He had said yes, said he would text the address just in case Trixie hadn’t saved the new one yet, and allowed himself a moment of satisfaction as he hung up the phone. His reaction was more muted than it had been last year when Trixie had reached out to him, but he couldn’t help but revel in the feeling of being the person to provide support. There was an added level of pride in being able to invite Trixie over to his apartment instead of the studio, although he knew the fresh move was perhaps mostly to thank for that.
So he had placed a quick grocery delivery order and then hopped in the shower while he waited for Trixie to arrive.
Trixie let his head rest in the crook of Katya’s neck, drawing himself even closer. He hadn’t realized just how much he needed a hug, hadn’t anticipated not wanting to let go, and he was glad that Katya held him tight. Once he felt like he had topped up his human contact quota he withdrew his arms, the smell of oud wood and sandalwood lingering as he pulled away.
“C’mon, I’ll show you around,” Katya told him.
+++
The doorbell rang and Trixie gave Katya an inquisitive look as he got up from the couch.
“Groceries,” Katya said over his shoulder as he pulled a mask on to answer the door.
“Are you ... are you planning on cooking?” Trixie asked, his voice rising higher with each word.
“Mama, you know I don’t cook.” He deposited a jar of Starbursts onto the coffee table before walking into the kitchen.
“How much sugar do you think I plan on consuming? You really had to get this gigantic jar instead of a bag?” Trixie asked, staring at the assortment of colored wrappers.
“So I’ll replenish the bowl at the studio.” Katya opened the refrigerator and started digging through the grocery bags.
“Mm,” Trixie murmured as he unscrewed the lid and fished out a few pink and red Starbursts before leaning back into the couch cushions.
“We can order in for dinner,” Katya said as he walked back toward the couch. Trixie raised an eyebrow at him. “Breakfast too. I just ordered snacks and shit, fresh fruit for smoothies.”
“Oh, she fancy,” Trixie said with a flick of his wrists.
“Only the boujiest organic produce when Ms. Martel is around.”
A noise that was supposed to be a laugh left Trixie’s mouth, muffled by the chewy candy he was eating. He saw Katya’s shoulders start to shake, the effort not to laugh proving useless.
“What the fuck kind of laugh was that?” Katya asked between wheezes.
“I have candy in my mouth, you asshole!” Trixie responded.
Katya plopped down on the couch next to Trixie, scooping up a balled up candy wrapper from the coffee table and throwing it at Trixie before settling in.
Trixie took the remote and turned on the TV. “Are you watching anything right now that doesn’t involve subtitles?” he asked as he navigated to the Netflix icon.
“As a matter of fact,” Katya started to laugh, “no. No, I’m not. I’m not watching any of your Real Housewives of Love Island bullshit though, so you can start something new with me.” He grabbed the remote from Trixie’s hand, scrunching his face up as he did.
He scrolled through categories until he got to the Rom-Com section, Julia Roberts’ face in black and white staring at him from the Notting Hill listing. “Actually ...”
“Yes!” Trixie’s hand reached for Katya’s leg, jostling it enthusiastically.
Once Katya pressed play and put the remote down, Trixie scooted closer to him. He tucked his legs up, one knee pressed against Katya’s thigh, and smiled to himself when Katya put his arm around him. Trixie’s head dropped to Katya’s shoulder as he wrapped his arms around Katya’s midsection. The heat of Katya’s body was more comforting than he would be willing to admit out loud. He felt the stroke of Katya’s hand on his arm and he sighed contently, realizing that his mind had cleared. The roar of all of the obligations, all of the pressure, the fears of failure had dulled at some point after he had walked through the door. And he wasn’t surprised by that revelation.
In fact he had expected it. Something about spending time with Katya grounded him. It had been pretty instant after they met, each of them gravitating toward the other when they needed to chill out. It was a relationship for which he was always grateful, always treasured, but he appreciated it so much in the times where he needed to turn to someone. It wasn’t something he usually actively thought about, but as a sense of calm spread through him he figured he would allow himself to get a little sentimental.
Trixie opened his eyes, wondering just how long it had been since he had seen Notting Hill because he didn’t remember any scenes in fluent ... French?
“Hey, I thought we agreed no subtitles,” he said.
“Mary, you fell asleep maybe five minutes into the movie,” Katya told him. “I kept it on in case you woke up, but you were out cold. This is the second episode I’ve watched since Julia told Hugh that she’s just a girl standing in front of a boy asking him to love her.”
“Oh.” He swiped one hand across his eyes, but otherwise didn’t move an inch. “I‘ve been having trouble getting to sleep, I guess it finally caught up to me.”
Katya’s thumb made small circles on Trixie’s bicep. “I keep telling you how important it is for you to get enough sleep,” he said, voice quiet and full of concern.
Trixie made a noncommittal noise before changing the subject. “What are we ordering for dinner?” he asked.
“Pizza?” Katya raised his eyebrows in question as he gauged Trixie’s reaction, knowing the temptation he was setting.
Trixie kept his voice flat, but Katya could see the satisfaction in his eyes. “If you really want, I guess.” They both knew Trixie used Katya as a means to indulge and Katya would always be willing to be the scapegoat.
+++
They sat across from each other at the dining room table, two boxes of pizza and containers of appetizers spread out across the surface. Katya picked up a stray piece of pepperoni as he watched Trixie.
“So spill, what’s going on with you?” Katya asked.
“Can’t a person want to spend time with their friend?” Trixie’s eyes dropped to the piece of pizza crust he held in his hand.
“We both know that’s a sorry excuse.” He paused, waiting for a response, but continued when he didn’t get one. “Since when do you call me up to have a sleepover? Neither of us have any hair to braid unless you got one of your wigs in that backpack of yours,” Katya said as he gestured toward the living room.
Trixie squinted his eyes at Katya. “Ha ha. Reminding me that I’m bald, way to hit me when I’m down.”
The sound of Katya pushing a container across the table punctuated the silence that fell between them. He kept his eyes on Trixie — waiting. There was no doubt who would start talking first, he just hoped that his friend would let him in rather than changing the subject.
Trixie ran his finger down the glass in front of him, collecting beads of condensation on his finger. He could feel Katya’s eyes on him, could feel the concern being directed at him in concentrated form. It was difficult for him to open up, to allow himself to be vulnerable. He sighed, trying to reset his thinking. This was why he had reached out, knowing that he couldn’t continue to keep everything bottled up.
“I’m exhausted. And it’s not just the sleeping thing. It’s deeper.” He lifted his eyes to look at Katya’s face before averting his gaze, focusing on the pattern he traced through the droplets of water. “I’m so overbooked, going from one thing to another to another without any time for myself. I’m scared that if I don’t take every opportunity as it comes I’m just going to fade into oblivion, become some has been who used to be famous and it’s embarrassing that they keep trying to make themselves relevant. That everyone is going to figure out that I’m just some Midwestern joke who fooled everybody for a while.”
He took a deep breath, a bit surprised at where his thoughts had gone. One thing about keeping himself so busy was that he didn’t have much of a chance to think through what he was feeling. At night when he had trouble falling asleep he thought about his schedule, what he needed to do the next day, instead of processing anything.
“And I worry about how long I can keep this up. How long the calls with jobs will keep coming in. Who I am without this persona; whether anyone cares. What I have to offer other than my name. So I keep saying yes. I keep pushing myself to learn new shit so that I have more skills, create more opportunities.” Taking another glance across the table he felt the words catch in his throat. He pressed his lips together as he reminded himself that this was someone he trusted sitting across from him. Someone who he didn’t ever need to hide from. “It’s tiring.”
Katya opened his mouth to respond, but Trixie shook his head. “I just needed someone to listen to me.”
There was a pregnant pause as each of them waited for the other to bring up David. When neither of them did, Katya reached across the table, taking Trixie’s hand in his own. “I’m glad you called.” He didn’t say anything else: no jokes, no sarcastic remarks, just sincerity.
Trixie’s eyes met Katya’s and he allowed himself to hold eye contact, to take in the moment. He felt the heat rush to his cheeks and wished there was an alcoholic drink in front of him on which to blame the flush instead of his feelings. Katya gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.
“Can we watch Runaway Bride next?” Trixie asked, picking his pizza crust up with his free hand.
“You gonna fall asleep again and miss a stunning performance by Joan Cusack?” Katya asked.
“Bitch, I’m in it for Richard Gere.”
+++
Instead of handing the blanket to Trixie, Katya found himself fanning it over Trixie and tucking it around him. He tried not to think about how it felt like second nature or the feel of Trixie’s legs and waist as he went.
“Okay,” Katya said, more to himself than anything, as he took a step back.
“Brian?” Trixie looked up at him.
“Yeah?” Katya responded.
“Will you, uh,” he hesitated. “Will you stay until I fall asleep?”
“I surely will.”
He grabbed a yoga mat and spread it out in front of the end of the couch where Trixie lay his head. Katya dropped down, legs outstretched, and propped his head against the arm of the couch. He felt Trixie’s arm against his shoulder and wordlessly he extended his arm. Their fingers laced together, the fuzz of the blanket brushing the backs of their hands.
Katya wasn’t sure how they had gotten here, what they were doing. It was fucking stupid, awkwardly sitting on the floor of his own living room when there was a perfectly good bed waiting for him. But he wouldn’t leave Trixie, not when he needed him. The rational thing to do would be to tell Trixie that they were both sleeping in the bed. That’s what two friends would do: share a bed for a night.
Most friends didn’t have their history.
The memories flashed through his mind. A cramped bed in the dark of a hotel, fear keeping them both awake, hands clutched together, desperately clinging to anything familiar; his bed in the dead of night, the tension so thick it was like a third person surrounding them, guards down until it got too real — too close — and then it all slipped away. The murmured apologies. The jokes that fell flat, no conviction behind them. The beat before the subject changed and the light came back into their voices.
A lot had changed since then.
He wasn’t worried about putting the moves on Trixie if they shared a bed now. He wasn’t delusional enough to think that his feelings for Trixie were gone, but he had worked very hard to move on and to accept that it wasn’t something that was going to happen.
It had been one thing when he just wanted to sleep with Trixie, the physical attraction so strong it was like a constant itch looking to be scratched. That he could have dealt with, chalking it up to hormones or pheromones or whatever the fuck it was that made someone so damn attractive. Could have marked it as a miss and found someone else to fantasize about.
But then his heart had to go and get involved. It was like one day the veil dropped and he wasn’t sure how it had taken him so long to realize that what he was feeling was so much more than lust.
Trixie’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Brian?” Barely more than a whisper.
“Yeah?” he whispered back.
Trixie was silent for a few seconds before he said, “Nothing, I just like you.”
“So do I, Bri,” Katya told him. “So do I.”
Silently Katya blew a breath out through his mouth, trying to focus on the breath itself. A second. A third. But he could hear his heart beating, pounding faster than it had been in the quiet as he had waited for Trixie to drift off to sleep. His mind bounced between the warmth of Trixie’s hand in his and the words that had come out of his mouth.
And maybe it was better after all that they weren’t sharing a bed.
+++
The next morning Trixie awoke to the smell of coffee brewing. He blinked a few times, remembering where he was, before reaching for his phone to check the time. And wondered who the fuck got up this early.
The front door of the apartment opened and Katya strolled in, Starbucks cup in hand. When he saw that Trixie was awake he raised the cup at him. “I got you one of those refreshers since you don’t drink coffee. I was going to put in the the fridge for when you woke up.” He walked over to the couch, holding the drink out. “Do you want it now?”
“Mhm,” Trixie said as he reached for the venti cup.
Katya continued on to the kitchen and Trixie listened to the sound of a cabinet opening and closing. When Katya returned to the living room he lifted Trixie’s legs up enough to scoot under them, plopping them down on his lap when he sat.
As he took a sip of coffee, Katya glanced at Trixie. “If you’re going to fall back to sleep put that down first.”
“I’m not,” Trixie whined. “You really do get up this early, huh?” He looked at the window, the sun streaming through the blinds.
“I’ve told you this, Mary.” Katya took the baseball cap off his head and tossed it on the side table.
Trixie chugged a quarter of his drink, trying to get the caffeine pumping through his system, and then looked at the cup in his hand. “Thank you, by the way.”
“You’re welcome,” Katya replied.
“For everything I mean. For yesterday.” His smile was shy, tinted with a little embarrassment that he tried to push down.
“Any time, Bri.” Katya placed his hand on Trixie’s shin. “I’m always here.”
+++
The FaceTime bar popped up on his screen as Katya was scrolling through Twitter. He propped his head up in his hand and hit accept.
“What are you up to, bitch?” he asked.
“Katya, I’m sick.” Trixie gave an exaggerated pout, but Katya could see the dark circles and the glassy look in his eyes.
“I know, mama. Why do you think I’ve been trying to get you to reschedule shit all week?” He tilted his head to emphasize the question.
“Yeah,” Trixie responded, but he was uncharacteristically quiet.
“You want me to come over?” Katya asked. He didn’t wait for a response before he said, “Give me ten and I’ll be on my way.”