Chapter 7

Yves put the glass of water down on the nightstand and swallowed the last of his hiccups with a huge gulp. A comforting hand rubbed his back up and down, its owner waiting patiently until his tears subsided. But that was until his stomach gave a low growl.

“Ah. Right.” Timothy laughed, standing up from the bed. “We haven’t had dinner yet. Should we order takeout?”

“I’m not really that hungry.”

“Lies.” Timothy padded across his studio-type apartment and went to check the contents of his fridge. “Hm, let’s see. Carrots, cabbage, oh! You have a stock of frozen hotdogs in here. You’re really into hotdogs, huh?”

A vein popped on Yves’ forehead at the sudden innuendo, but Timothy was still busy scouring his fridge for ingredients, so he just let it go.

“I think I can whip up something quick and easy for us. I’ll be using your kitchen, okay? Where’s your chopping board? Ah, here it is.”

Yves watched Timothy prance around his kitchenette as if it were his