Davey went down to the kitchen at eleven o’clock the next night. It was deserted, and would be until the cat got home, so he was alone. He wasn’t even that hungry, really.

He rarely lingered in the kitchen. Often, he darted in, grabbed the first food he could find, then darted out, racing up to the linen closet where he would slowly savor his prize. Even yesterday, with Paul and Eric, he had eaten quickly, on the edge of his seat, taking the first opportunity they gave him to run back to his closet. To think.

He lingered tonight. He turned on the light, watched as it flickered to life. He looked around, taking his time, running his fingers over the polished granite countertop, touching the gleaming appliances and the smooth, dark wood of the cabinets. He turned on the sink faucet and washed his hands, luxuriating in the rosemary-scented soap and warm water on his skin. He opened the refrigerator and found a red apple that pleased him.

But he decided he didn’t like the fluorescent light overhead. After having seen the kitchen in sunlight, the artificial light cast everything in a weird, violet-white glow, and the reflections on the windows made him feel as if the world beyond the house had disappeared. He went to the wall and flipped the switch off.

Only the light from the thin moon scattered the darkness now, but Davey liked it better. He went to the table and sat down in the chair the cat had used the morning Davey had watched it, and bit into the apple. It was cold and crisp. His teeth broke the skin and crushed the fruit, sweet on his tongue but tart in the back of his mouth. Cool on the way down.

Somewhere at the edge of his senses, he heard the garage door, heard the car. The cat was home. It didn’t matter. He didn’t want to stop eating; the apple was too good.

Keys, lock, sweet, tart. Doorknob turning. A footstep on the threshold. Crisp, cold.

More footsteps, then sudden silence.

Tart. Swallow.

A whisper: “Davey.”

Davey at last paused, the apple inches from his mouth. He could feel his lips, swollen and abraded from the apple’s acid juice; he could feel the faint chill coming off the fruit in his hand.

The cat moved slowly around the table. “Don’t stop,” he murmured. “You’re too thin as it is.” He crouched down near Davey, laying his keys on the table but never taking his gaze from Davey’s face.

But Davey suddenly couldn’t take another bite. The cat looked... different. Tired? Yes, he was tired – there were shadows under his eyes and he was pale with sleeplessness. But that wasn’t what was different.

“Eat,” the cat urged again.

Davey shook his head and set the apple down on the table. “You’re angry with me. Wasn’t I a good mouse?”

The cat’s eyes shifted downward, his hair falling forward. “No,” he said softly. He looked back up at Davey, as if forcing himself to make eye contact. “Not angry. Afraid.”

That was it, that was what Davey had seen – fear. Still, hearing the cat say the word surprised him. “Of what?”

The cat lifted a hand and touched Davey’s wrist, an absent gesture meant to buy time to think how to respond. “The last time I had something perfect, it...” He trailed off, looking at Davey’s wrist. He opened his mouth to continue, but then didn’t.

Davey didn’t mind if the cat didn’t want to tell him; all their previous lives were their own secrets to keep, if they wanted to. That had always been the arrangement, here.

But the cat had already given one secret away: Whatever perfect thing he had lost was why he had awakened screaming in the dawn. Why he had suddenly not been able to stand looking at Davey in his bed.

“Are you going to send me away, too?” Davey asked. If the cat would not discuss his fear, Davey would talk about his own.

The cat looked surprised, his eyes widening. “No, of course not.” He rose from his crouch and backed up a step, leaning against the counter. “You’re always free to go—”

“No.” Davey looked at his apple, the bright, creamy fruit already beginning to darken in the air. He rose from his chair and faced the cat. “What do you have now?”

“Excuse me?” the cat asked, confused by the question.

“You said, ‘the last time.’ What perfect thing do you have now?”

The cat stretched out his hand to brush down Davey’s cheek. “You.”

Davey closed his eyes, repeating the word in his mind like an echo. You. You. You.

“I’m not perfect.”

A broken laugh escaped the cat’s throat. “Oh, but you are.”

“I... Perfect people don’t need... what I need.”

He stepped forward and took Davey’s face between his hands. “It’s not pain that you need, Davey, not really. It’s just the only thing you’ve found that can take you far enough away. The only thing that’s big enough to fill the empty places for a little while.”

The words nearly rocked Davey backward. A sob rose so quickly in his throat he couldn’t have answered if he had wanted to. How did he know these things? How could the cat possibly know?

The cat laid a kiss on the top of his head. “I hurt you because you want it. Because it’s the easy way out, for both of us. But I realized that I don’t want to have to hurt you any more; I don’t want you to need it like you do.” The cat’s thumbs stroked small circles on Davey’s cheeks. “I want to heal you. I want to give you something bigger than the pain, big enough to fill the empty places forever. Something that will make you not need to go away.”

Davey felt a weight lifting from him, and his throat cleared as the sob dissolved. He looked up at the cat. “How did you know?”

The cat’s smile faded, but not quite. “An old friend taught me. It just took me a long time to figure it all out.”

The hands on Davey’s face tugged gently and Davey let himself be pulled into a kiss. It was soft and sweet, and Davey went weak in the knees as it went on and on. The cat’s hands, warm and strong, swept down his shoulders and back, then down to his ass. Davey was gripped and pulled hard against the cat’s larger body, and a wave of dizzying desire swept through him.

Desire, and joy: He wanted this man, and not just for the delicious pain he inflicted. He wanted the smell of him, the feel of his body, the softness of his hair, the touch of his lips, the sound of his voice, the warmth of his embrace. Maybe the cat was right. Maybe there was something bigger, something better, than the pain.

Davey put his hands up against the cat’s chest and let his head fall back as the cat’s lips made their way under his jaw, down his throat...

The cat raised his head and stared at Davey intently for a long moment. Puzzled, Davey straightened and met his gaze.

“William,” the cat said.

Davey frowned at the seeming non sequitur, then realization dawned. “Oh. William.”

The cat – William – tilted his head as if considering the sound of the word. Then he smiled. “Come upstairs with me?”

It felt so strange to be asked, and the asking made it... real. This wasn’t a game anymore. William wanted there to be no roles for them to hide behind, no claws and blood to take away Davey’s awareness. It would be just the two of them, and this small spark of... something... that was growing between them.

Davey bit his lip, suddenly terrified. Maybe it was useless. Maybe William was wrong and there was nothing to be done, maybe Davey’s empty places were too big and raw for anyone to heal. Maybe the tiny spark wasn’t enough, maybe it wasn’t the beginning of real affection – maybe it was only a strange sort of mutual addiction and without their drug of choice, their nights were destined to end in disappointed silence.

But maybe William was right. Maybe the tiny spark would be enough. Looking at William, at his hopeful expression, Davey was willing to find out.

Davey realized he had hesitated a long time when William’s brows began to furrow. “Yes,” he said quickly, smiling reassurance.

William grinned in relief and nodded toward the table. “Bring your apple. You’ll need your strength.”

Davey reached behind him to pick it up, marveling at how much time seemed to have passed since he had first bitten into it.

When he turned back around, William’s hand was stretched out toward him.

He looked past the claws, past the cat, and saw only strong, warm human fingers, reaching out for him.

Davey slid his hand into William’s, and let him lead the way.