Archive of Our Own

Tim is halfway through his unfortunate lunch of reheated frozen meatballs (the premade dinner was unappetizing last night and is barely palatable today) when his phone chimes. A photo memory from two years ago. He clicks on it and immediately grins, bringing his phone closer to his face to absorb every ounce of serotonin the picture radiates. 

It’s a photo of a kitten approximately the size of Tim’s hand, black fur so intensely fluffy you almost couldn’t tell how underfed it was, looking absolutely lost on the expanse of Tim’s bed. He scrolls through the next several pictures from the same day. Kitten in bed, kitten in Tim’s lap, kitten suckling from a dropper. A selfie with the kitten held up beside his face for size comparison. Tim chuckles fondly, zooming in to see the baby’s little feets.

“Did you get a cat?” 

Tim jumps at Gerry’s voice - seriously, he knows the man’s a librarian, but how is he that stealthy? - and chuckles again, this time more nervously. “Oh, not recently. Two years ago today, actually.”

“Oh my god, can I see? Please?” Gerry levels beseeching eyes on him as he walks backward to the refrigerator. “I have a soft spot for void gremlins.”

“Of course.” Tim flashes him a smile that he hopes contains the full power of his trademarked Hotboy Magic despite his heart rate, which is probably a little too quick for the minor startle of being silently approached. 

Gerry opens the refrigerator and emerges with a sealed glass bowl of what looks like hummus and another container of what appears to be homemade pita. Sasha’s work, of course. Gerry probably never had to bring last night’s sad remains for lunch. Tim looks accusingly at his meatballs, wordlessly threatening them against exposing his lack of put-togetherness. Gerry has no eyes for Tim’s plate, however, as he drops into the chair beside him and leans in toward his phone.
“What’s his name?”

Tim turns the phone toward him to show off the photo more clearly and spends a moment grappling with whether he should tell one half of his crush that he’d named his cat Stinker McBoogems. He settles on, “Er… Boo.”

“Spooky baby,” Gerry murmurs solemnly. “I love him.”

“As you should, of course,” Tim answers, scrolling back to show Gerry the other photos in the memory. 

“Baby,” Gerry repeats. “Small baby. How’d you acquire him?” He scoops up a tower of hummus on a slice of pita and crams it into his mouth without looking away from the phone screen.

“Found him by the bus stop near my old place,” Tim says. “All alone. I tried to find his mum, maybe his siblings, for a few days actually, but no luck.”

“So you became his mum.” Gerry smirks.

“Yes, I threw away a promising career as a lawyer to give my child the life he deserves.” Tim wipes a fake tear from his eye. “It was worth every sacrifice.”

Gerry actually laughs, a warmer sound than his wry voice might’ve suggested. 

Oh, I’ve got to do that again , Tim thinks, quickly stabbing a meatball to hide his too-wide grin.

“So, did he ever grow into all that fluff?” Gerry asks.

“He grew, but the fluff grew with him.” Tim quickly scrolls to find a more recent photo. This one shows Stinker perched atop his coffee table, squishy tum and wildly thick fur almost obscuring the magazine he had claimed as a resting place. 

“Oh, big boy ,” Gerry says, delighted, and scoots in closer. “But still baby, of course.”

“Of course,” Tim agrees, swiping to show off the rest of his exhibit. His camera roll consists almost entirely of Stinker McBoogems in various poses, ranging from regal and godlike to absolute goober. His heart swells with pride when Gerry appropriately responds with sounds of adoration. “Look at this one, he has a little bow tie.” 

“Handsome office man,” Gerry coos.

Ah shit, Tim’s face is beginning to ache from grinning. He’s interrupted in the process of finding a particularly adorable picture of Stinker sitting in his bathroom sink by Jon’s shuffling, uneven gait as he enters the break room.

“Oh, sorry,” Jon says, “I thought you were back from lunch already.” He looks at Tim and then at Gerry, eyebrows raised just slightly.

Tim is suddenly aware of how closely he’s leaning in toward Gerry. He shoots backward quickly and scoops up his plate. “Whoops, lost track of time!” He dumps the remainder of his meatballs into the bin. 

“Thanks for showing me your cat,” Gerry calls after him.

Tim practically soars back to work, warmth filling his chest and erupting in a smile that’s broader and softer than usual.

“Sasha, did you know that Tim is in possession of the actual fluffiest void cat of the modern era?” Gerry saunters across the library toward the circulation desk, where Tim and Sasha are emptying the last few books from the return box onto shelving carts for the next morning. 

Sasha turns bright eyes on Tim. “No! How come you never said you had a cat?”

Tim huffs and shrugs. “Oh, I must’ve done.”

“No, no, I’d definitely remember.” Sasha plants her hands on her hips and stares at him, face open and cheerful and inviting . “Well? Show me!” Then, when he complies, she claps her hands over her mouth to contain a sound that Tim probably would have called a squee if they weren’t in a library. “Oh! I love him!”

“As you should,” Tim and Gerry say in unison.

Ah god, ah fuck, Tim thinks, looking quickly down at the book in his hands. That was cute, wasn’t it? Gross.

Gerry laughs, and it’s that rich, joyful sound that nestles in Tim’s stomach again. “You’ve always had a weakness for black cats,” he says, leaning against the desk and smiling softly (ah god) at Sasha. 

“Please Tim, please let me meet him sometime!” Sasha assumes a prayerful pose.

“Oh! Oh, yeah, of course!” Tim shoves the last book onto the cart. “We should do drinks at mine sometime, actually. I’m not far from here. Tomorrow night?”

Gerry and Sasha exchange a meaningful look that Tim doesn’t understand, though there’s every chance that’s because the immediate rush of blood to his head after those words left his mouth has left him too stunned to process communication of any kind. 

“That sounds lovely, Tim,” Sasha says. “I’ll bring a pie, how about that?”

“Is it for me or is it for St- uhh, Boo?” Tim manages to joke. 

“For Boo of course,” Sasha says as she walks around the desk to take Gerry’s hand. “But I’m sure he’ll find it in his heart to share with you.”

The splitting grin on Tim’s face lasts approximately the amount of time it takes Gerry and Sasha to disappear through the main doors before he makes a choked keening sound in the back of his throat and buries his face in his hands. Shit, shit, shit. His heart is currently torn between exulting that both of his crushes would be in his house the next day and absolutely freaking the fuck out that both of his crushes would be in his house the next day. He unlocks his phone quickly, shooting a frantic text to his group chat with Danny and Nikola.

Tim

how to become not a disaster in a few easy steps ???!!

His phone buzzes as he steps out of the library into the summer evening’s heat.

Danny

For you? Impossible. But I’ll see what I can do. What’s going on?

Tim does his best to explain while walking and trying to avoid any collisions.

Nikola

wait wait wait gerry n sasha like Gerry N Sasha, like coworker couple u’ve puppy dog eyed at since the actual dawn of time?

Danny

This is good, this is progress! Just let Stinky Boo Boo pull the weight. He’s at least cute enough to compensate for, uhh, the rest of you

Tim tries to express through emojis how insulting that was.

Nikola

don’t worry timbo ur at least as cute as the booger boy

Tim

please i am begging you to take this seriously this might be my one shot

Nikola

ur one chance to wiggle into a goth nerd sandwich. can’t fuck this up i agree

Danny

So, drinks. You should probably have food too. What do you have at home?

Tim thinks about the miserable contents of his kitchen and quickly types, I’ll just go to the store and find something. 

Nikola starts a group video call just as Tim approaches his usual grocery store. He quickly wrangles in an earbud. “What kind of food do you even serve to your two coworkers who are over to see your cat but who actually are over so you can secretly woo them into dating you?”

“Awww, look at him, he’s flustered, Danny!” Nikola sounds ridiculously too delighted. She’s lying on her stomach in bed, and her feet are visibly kicking in the background. Tim briefly wishes that she put half as much effort into being helpful as she does into being deliberately obnoxious. “What happened to our favorite smooth hotboy?”

“They’re my coworkers, Nikky!” Tim says, strained. 

“It’s probably incredibly inappropriate,” Danny muses, glancing down at his own phone from where he’s apparently propped it beside his stovetop. He’s cooking.

“Danny, you know about food! What do I do?” Tim pleads.

“Timbo, darling, I don’t think this is the time to learn to cook,” Nikola says. “I don’t trust even your Hotboy Magic to cover you that far.”

“Okay, okay, something easy.” Tim grabs a cart and hustles toward the food section.

“Cheese and crackers are easy,” Nikola says helpfully.

“Boring!” Danny shakes his head. “Do you have a baking pan, Tim?”

“Yes I have a pan, I’m not completely - ”

“Right, so baked brie. Easy.” Danny instructs him to acquire a handful of ingredients, including pastry dough and raspberry jam, promising to send over directions for food assembly.

Tim thinks about Sasha and her endless string of homemade lunches and wonders if she’ll be impressed or if she’ll see through his farce. “Okay, it’ll work.”

“Get some veggies or something too, maybe a platter,” Nikola suggests. “And Tim? You do have glasses for drinks, right? You’re not going to serve them in disposable cups, right?”

“I’m not that useless, Nikky,” Tim scoffs and runs a mental check on the collective two dozen dishes he has to his name to make sure there are three matching glasses. He’s fairly sure… fairly. 

“Drinks, drinks,” Danny says. “What are you going to serve?”

“Oh, I already have… plenty,” Tim hedges, unwilling to admit that he’s memorized both Gerry and Sasha’s drinks of choice from the handful of times the library employees have gone out together and that he’s had the liquor on his shelf for months just in case the opportunity arose. “Just need some, uh, juice and stuff for mixing.”

He walks the remaining two blocks to his flat, grocery bags in one hand and phone in the other. “Okay, but what if they’re not… you know, poly? What if Gerry isn’t into guys?”

Nikola sighs dramatically. “Timbo my love, I’ve seen his picture. Straight people can’t do that.”

“We’ve been over this,” Danny agrees. “Literally, Tim, we’ve counseled you through every crisis you’ve had over them for months now.”
Tim grumbles.

“Anyway, they are or they aren’t, but either way you’ll have a good time hanging out with them,” Danny goes on. “Don’t think too hard about it. See where the wind takes you.”

“Be yourself,” Nikola croons. “You’re irresistible. I believe in Hotboy Magic.”

“And you’re insufferable,” Tim says as he shuffles his phone into his pocket to grab his keys and let himself into his building.
“Yet you still come to us for advice.”

“My first mistake.”

Tim hangs up so he can put away his groceries and begin the daunting process of transforming his flat into something resembling tidiness, but first he has to get in his quota of post-work-cat-snuggles. “Stinker,” he calls, “Mister Stinky Boy? Stinky Stinker McBoogeyboy?”

Mrow! comes Stinker’s answering cry. He pads into the kitchen from the bedroom, blinking sleepy eyes as he makes his way to wind between Tim’s legs.

Tim grabs a can of chicken from the countertop before sitting directly on the floor to fully immerse himself in the cat experience. Stinker whaps him in the face with a tail like a feather duster, and Tim laughs, burying his face in soft fluff. “I missed you, Stinky Boy,” he singsongs, opening the can and nudging it over. Stinker deigns him worthy to receive one last head rub before turning his attention on dinner. 

Tim watches him for a few more moments, then hauls himself back to his feet to quickly put away his newly acquired adult foodstuffs. Then he sets himself to the real task at hand. 

After two hours of scrubbing surfaces, wrestling stacks of assorted clutter onto shelves and into closets, and, to Stinker’s dismay, a quick lap through the flat with a vacuum cleaner, it finally looks like the dwelling place of an adult with their shit at least moderately together. He surveys his work. Hm. 

After a moment’s debate, he lopes into his bedroom to retrieve the little bi pride flag on his dresser and returns to the kitchen to drop it into the vase he’d placed on his table months ago with the intention of buying flowers. Then he takes a quick picture and sends it to the groupchat with the text, Is this subtle enough? 

Danny shoots back a thumb’s up emoji. Nikola responds with a keyboard smash. Those are favorable enough results, so Tim gives the little flag an encouraging pat to hype it up for the important job it faces and, on second thought, bends down to grace Stinker with a pat as well. “All right, lads, it’s up to you and hotboy magic now.”

The next day at work passes in a rush and Tim is facing his walk home again far more quickly than he anticipated. Sasha confirms his address and the time of their arrival, a mere hour and a half later; he practically jogs to his flat to have time to shower before setting to work on the baked brie recipe Danny’d sent last night; and just like that he’s mere minutes away from inviting the couple who’ve taken up permanent residence in his dreams into his home .

He surveys his outfit in the mirror critically. Work attire doesn’t feel right, but neither does something too casual. He wants Sasha and Gerry to know that this is an important occasion to him, that it’s special, they’re special, but also he doesn’t want them to suspect that he has any motivation aside from introducing Stinker to his adoring fans. It’s a fine line. He thinks his chosen combination of dark washed jeans (cuffed an inch higher than necessary to best display his paw print socks) and a striped button down (sleeves rolled up past his forearms and top two buttons tastefully undone) ( it’s not slutty, Nikola, believe me, I know slutty ) ( I love you, Timbo, but you can’t not look slutty if you tried ) (God he’s going to block her one day, he really is) walks that line. He runs a hand through his hair one more time, finally achieving the signature artfully-messy-but-not-as-messy-as-I-could-be-if-you-let-me tousle he’d perfected in university. He makes startled eye contact with himself. Oh shit, maybe Nikola’s right .

He doesn’t have time to work through that crisis, though, because Gerry and Sasha choose this moment to buzz at the entrance.

Tim scrambles out of the bedroom to let them in. “Best behavior, Stinky,” he implores.

Stinker casts him a longsuffering look from his perch on the back of the sofa that isn’t nearly as inspiring as Tim would’ve liked, but Tim puts on his bravest and most charming smile and opens his door.

“Hey, welcome,” he starts, but the words fall from lips parting in shock as Gerry and Sasha pile into his flat.

It’s not that he’s never seen Gerry look nice, mind. He always looks nice and a little dangerous, his many piercings, peekaboo tattoos, and perpetually black nails lending him an exciting appeal even in the most work appropriate clothing. But what he’s wearing right now is not work appropriate. At least, Tim is sure Gertrude would have a stroke and die on the spot if she ever saw Gerry waltzing into the library in platform boots and a calf-length pleather skirt. Come to think of it, Tim is probably passing away from the sight at this very moment.

No, no, his bounding heart is very much alive. Which is great, because it means he can keep staring.

No, don’t stare, that’s rude, Tim, pull yourself together –

“Pie, as promised!” Sasha brandishes the little platter as if unveiling a rabbit from a magic hat. “Icebox lemon, hope you like citrus!” Tim turns wide eyes on her and barely has time to process that she, too, has changed into something he’s never seen her wear (hang on, he’s pretty sure he has that exact floral button down in his wardrobe) before she shoves the platter into his arms with a squeal of excitement. The cat is in range of vision.

Sasha beelines toward him, cooing something like “baby boy, big scary baby boy,” and Gerry laughs from deep in his chest. Stinker stretches dramatically, perfect form as always, and shakes out his fluff before giving Sasha’s outstretched fingers a delicate sniff.

Tim takes the opportunity of Gerry and Sasha’s distraction to deposit the pie on the table between the plates of sliced veggies and baked brie. The little bi flag flutters cheerfully in its vase. 

“Oh, he’s even fluffier in person,” Sasha is saying. Stinker has allowed her to scritch between his ears, the tip of his tail flicking just slightly. 

Attention whore, Tim thinks fondly.

“He has,” Gerry says with conviction, “the best feet.” He drops onto the sofa and twists to offer his own hand toward Stinker, who gives him a brief once-over before butting his nose against his fingertips. Gerry makes a sound like he’s ascending to heaven.

Tim is overcome with gratitude for Stinker. “I’d like to contend that he is simply the best cat.”

“The best cat,” Sasha repeats, “possibly ever to exist.”

“No possibly about it, Sash, I actually did a dissertation on the subject. It’s a cold, hard fact.” Tim grins at her. 

“So he is an academic, despite his many protests?” she challenges, grinning back up at him. She’s wearing lipstick. It’s bold and red like the flowers on her shirt, much darker than anything he’s seen her wear to work, and Tim realizes he’s facing an uphill battle not to stare. 

“You caught me,” he sighs. “But don’t tell Jon. He’ll expect effort from me if he suspects I’m in possession of a braincell.”

“Your secret’s safe with me. I will continue to be the only member of library staff who self-identifies as having a braincell.”

“A hard job, but someone had to step up,” Gerry says, tearing his eyes away from Stinker long enough to smile at Sasha and then Tim. 

“Yeah, well, you can count on me,” Sasha says. She bounds to her feet again. “Tim, you promised drinks!”

“Oh, yeah, right!” He moves to his makeshift bar, where three glasses (matching, yes, he did have three of a kind) are lined up beside a small assortment of liquor. He rattles off the possibilities quickly, and pretends that it’s a delightful coincidence when Sasha and Gerry remark that their drinks of choice are on the menu. 

They’re both appropriately impressed with the baked brie (god bless Danny; Tim decides he’s going to send him an edible arrangement and a long note apologizing for every annoying thing he’s ever done to him) and soon the three of them are wedged onto Tim’s sofa, Gerry and Sasha on either side of him, balancing plates and glasses as Stinker picks his way across their laps. 

“Not for you, Boo,” Gerry says, trying to take a bite while dodging Stinker’s exploratory swipe.

“Oh, this might distract him!” Sasha shoves her plate unceremoniously onto Tim’s lap and squirms to reach her purse. “We brought a present, to assure him of our immediate and undying devotion.” 

The gift in question is a rotund stuffed mouse with half a dozen streamers in place of a tail. Sasha wiggles it enticingly at Stinker, who immediately bats it out of her hand and scrambles to chase it across the floor.

“A winner,” Tim announces, then takes a bite of Sasha’s lemon pie. “Oh, Christ, this is good, Sash.”

“Careful, Tim, or she’ll start showering you in them,” Gerry warns, voice all full and weighty with the promise of more laughter. “She’ll be on your doorstep every other day with desserts.”

“That sounds like the opposite of a problem.” Tim grins and takes another bite. “More pie and more quality Sasha time? Sign me up.”

“You don’t get tired of me in your hair all day?” Sasha smiles teasingly at him, and she brushes a single finger through his hair before retrieving her plate from his lap.

Maybe it’s the buzz of alcohol in his blood, or maybe it’s the thrill of being so close to both of them after months of dreaming about something like this, but Tim finds the boldness to answer, “I don’t think I could get tired of you.” He looks from her to Gerry, smirking slightly, before he experiences a brief moment of terror. His stomach prepares to drop as he realizes how many ways either of them could take that badly, but he’s not left time to truly panic.

“Good,” Gerry says without a trace of mockery, “because we like spending time with you. We should do it… more often.”

“Whenever, and if ever you’d feel so inclined,” Sasha adds. She bumps his shoulder lightly with her own.

Oh. Huh. 

Tim takes a fortifying gulp of his drink. “Really? Are you sure this isn’t just an excuse to spend more time with my cat?”

“Yes, we’re playing the long game to secure unlimited cat cuddles,” Gerry says. Stinker takes this opportunity to leap back into his lap, toy secured in his mouth. “See, he loves me! Quick, someone take a picture. Goth recognizes goth.” He sets his plate on the floor by the sofa and buries a hand in Stinker’s thick fluff, scritching behind his ears lovingly as the cat makes himself comfortable atop Gerry’s skirt.

Tim wrestles his phone out of his pocket and snaps a picture, then almost passes away from an immediate gush of affection when he looks at it. He forwards it to Gerry, and, after a brief moment of internal debate, sends it to Nikola and Danny as well.

His phone vibrates almost immediately. 

Nikola

that is not a straight person. i rest my case

Tim thinks his face might tear apart from the force of his grin. “So who told you gifts were his love language?”

Sasha huffs delicately. “All deities appreciate offerings, Tim.”

“And that’s why you brought me a pie, got it.” 

Sasha laughs and shifts to rest her head on Tim’s shoulder. “Don’t think too highly of yourself.”

Tim probably would find a snarky quip to throw back at her, keep the banter running, if his entire brain wasn’t immediately short circuiting. No, it’s more like a force restart with updates - new possibilities, new sensations, new hopes frantically ordering themselves in his mind as he sits very still with Sasha’s long hair spilling over his shirt collar. 

“Tim? Is this okay?” She twists her head to look up at him. 

“Yeah - yes. Very okay.” He looks sideways at Gerry to gauge his reaction, but he’s only smiling in his wry, twisting way. He reaches one arm around Tim to wind the hand not petting Stinker into Sasha’s hair carefully, and Tim gets the impression that the fact Gerry’s arm is also draped lightly over his shoulders isn’t accidental. He meets Gerry’s searching eyes and nods, repeating quietly, “Very okay.” 

They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes (at least outwardly; Tim’s inner life can currently best be described as a bouncy house full of screaming children, lightly peppered with a few tasteful ah god ah fuck s) before Tim opens his mouth again. “So. Um. Just to be clear. When you say you want to hang out more often, do you mean as friends or…?”

“Sure, if that’s what you want,” Sasha says slowly, “but we had something a little more romantic in mind.”

Because he’s Tim and it’s all he knows, he jokes, “Is this a proposition?”

Gerry pulls back slightly to look at them both more easily. “You get to set the boundary wherever you’re comfortable, Tim. But for our part… well, we like you. We’re not here to ask you for a threesome - ”

“But we might be convinced to take you on a date,” Sasha finishes. 

Tim really hopes that whatever Hotboy Magic may be in his possession is making him look more cool and collected than he feels. Rather than giving any kind of helpful response, he says, “So you are poly?”

Sasha gives an affirming hum. “But don’t feel pressured, Tim, we can take no for an answer. We won’t be upset.”

“If you’re not interested, you can say so now and it won’t come up ever again,” Gerry adds, “here or at work. It won’t change anything.”

“Not interested?” Tim can’t hold back the massive and, he’s sure, goofy grin spreading across his face. “Isn’t it obvious? Yes, you two can pick me up. I am very open to being propositioned - but…”

Sasha sits up now, looking at Gerry with the beginnings of a hopeful smile.

“... you have to buy me a drink first.” 

He’s always wanted to say that. God, Nikola would be so proud.

Gerry laughs and leans in again, his arm a comfortable weight on Tim’s shoulders once more. “Just the one drink?”

“Well,” Tim amends, still grinning furiously, “you did mention a date, Sasha. What did you have in mind?”

“I was thinking bowling, actually,” Sasha says, reaching across Tim to pet Stinker. 

Tim laughs. “Gonna woo me with your trick shots?”

“Personally I was hoping to be wooed by your trick shots,” Gerry says suggestively.

“It won’t take much effort. Gerry’s never been bowling.” Sasha wiggles her eyebrows at Tim, her voice lilting into the pitch of barely contained excitement. 

“What, never?” Tim clutches his chest. “Thank God you have me, then. You’ll walk in a tender young beginner and walk out a hardened master. I am an excellent tutor - and if that fails, a top tier performer.”

“You? A performer?” Gerry asks in mock surprise. 

“Mhm. For your information, everything you know about me is a carefully curated exhibition for your benefit.” Tim looks between the two of them. He wonders if they know that he’s barely joking. 

“Timothy Stoker, bowler extraordinaire.” Sasha drags her hand through the air as if envisioning the words on a sign. “Yes, I think bowling is the obvious next step. And a drink for you, of course,” she adds, smirking back at Tim.

Tim’s already picturing himself with a hand on Gerry’s arm, carefully nudging him into form, Sasha watching with great delight, but at the onslaught of giddiness that image brings he does his best to save the play-by-play of his future date ( date, date! ) for a time when Gerry and Sasha can’t watch him giggling like a child. As it is, they fall into quiet banter interrupted occasionally by happy silence, arms all entangled, heads on shoulders, taking turns keeping Stinker well supplied with chin scritches, for almost two hours before Gerry and Sasha begin the slow process of saying goodbye.

They stand in the doorway, murmuring “see you at work”s (how Tim is expected to do anything productive ever again remains to be seen) before finally disappearing into the night.

Alone in his flat, Tim throws himself back onto the couch and immediately starts a group video call with Danny and Nikola. Though it’s bordering too-late for a weeknight conversation, both of their faces fill his screen within seconds.

“What happened?” Danny demands.

“Fucking Hotboy Magic happened,” Tim says, then has to scramble to turn down the volume to avoid taking damage from the force of Nikola’s triumphant screech.

“Timbo, I always knew you had it in you,” she gushes. “Give us every detail. Immediately.”

Tim recounts the evening with an ever-widening grin, leaping to his feet halfway through to pace about his flat. 

“You literally sat between them, you literally became a sandwich,” Nikola says. She clutches her hands together. “You’re going to be their trophy wife, I predict it now.”

“There are worse things,” Danny muses. 

Tim splutters indignantly but privately agrees.

The video call ends and Tim finally calms himself enough to crawl into bed, still grinning into the dark as he replays the night over and over again in his mind. Just as he’s about to slip into sleep, his phone buzzes again.

New groupchat created.

Gerry

had a great time tonight

Sasha

<3

Tim resists the urge to hug his phone to his chest.

Tim

so did i. thanks again for the pie. and stinker says thanks for the mouse

Sasha

Stinker?

Gerry

??

Tim smacks himself in the forehead. “Ah fuck.”