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They tumbled out of the taxicab together.
Madvig said, "Good night, Ned."
Ned Beaumont said, "G'night, Paul."
Madvig half stumbled, half trudged up his walkay. Ned Beaumont half stumbled, half trailed behind.
"Nice night," he said looking up at the clear, moon-lit sky.
"It is," replied Madvig, bending to pick up the key he'd dropped trying to turn it in the lock.
They stood in silence on Madvig's porch until Madvig successfully unlocked the door.
"Well, good night, Paul," said Ned Beaumont.
"G'night, Ned," said Madvig.
"I'll see you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow." Madvig opened the door, took four full steps inside, stopped on the fifth, frowned, turned around, and retraced all of them.
"This isn't your house," he said at the same time that Ned Beaumont said, "I got off at the wrong place."
Madvig blinked. Ned Beaumont swayed on his feet. The door shut behind Madvig.
"Cab was supposed to take me home," Ned Beaumont said slowly, thinking it out as he spoke. "But I got off ahead of time."
Madvig cast an eye at the empty street. "It's gone already."
Ned Beaumont looked as well. "We're smarter than this."
"How much'd you drink?"
Ned Beaumont's moustache followed the downward curl of his lip. "You didn't say anything neither."
Madvig conceded that was true. Then he said, "Don't reckon another'll be by soon."
"'s fine." Ned Beaumont shrugged. "I can find my way home all right."
"It's a long walk."
Ned Beaumont shrugged again. "I'll walk someplace I can find another cab, how's that." The last two words were said in such a way that the 's' and the 't' blurred together into a discouraging 'zzz.’ Madvig looked at him with suspicion.
Ned Beaumont reddened. "I'm fine."
"Okay. All right." Madvig put out his hands in front of him. "Did you eat today?"
"Had toast in the morning." He turned from the face Madvig made. "Be seeing you, Paul," he said, throwing a wave over his shoulder. He managed long, mostly steady steps in the chilly air. Heavier footsteps followed, and he froze as Madvig's hand clamped around his wrist.
"Why don't you spend the night?"
When Ned Beaumont turned to him his right eyebrow was raised and his lips were pressed into a thin smile. He said, "I can take care of myself, Paul," in a voice as carefully schooled as his face.
"I know." Madvig smiled, wavering between affection and unease. "I'm worried about whatever poor bastard you pick a fight with."
Ned Beaumont barked out a laugh that turned into a hiccup. "I won't, 'less someone picks something first. Promise." He tried to pull away, but Madvig held him in place. His face turned sallow and his eyes went from his hand in Madvig's strong, warm grip to Madvig's face.
There they stayed.
"Paul—"
"We're friends, Ned." In the pale moon Madvig's blond hair looked a startling silver and his eyes something like ice. “Friends take care of each other, you know? Lord knows you have, me.”
Ned Beaumont swallowed. "You take care of me enough," he said firmly.
"Mom and Opal are asleep, if that's what worries you. We won't wake them." Madvig squeezed his hand, and Ned Beaumont shuddered. Madvig's brows drew together. "Come on, Ned."
Ned Beaumont looked into his pale, pale eyes, squinting like someone trying to make sense of a language just north of familiar.
"Oke," he said after a while. "Okay. Sure."
Madvig grinned a grin made loose by drink. His hand stayed in Ned Beaumont's as he led him back to the door, and only at seeing it shut did he scowl. He grumbled something about it always taking the lock and let go of Ned Beaumont's hand to fiddle with it.
Ned Beamont observed the other's broad back. His eyes followed the wrinkles of Madvig's heavy coat as they rippled with his movements. He rubbed his palms together and then flexed his fingers before shoving both hands into the pockets of his coat. He ran his fingertips absently over the swirling groves of his cigar case and began staggering toward one of two tall decorative columns on the porch.
Then he stopped.
He went back to stand where he had been, and then he took a step further in the same direction.
"All right," Madvig said, hand still on the doorknob. When he turned around he found Ned Beaumont standing close to him. He laughed a little.
"We can just be real quiet-like—" he was saying, and then he stopped saying it because Ned Beaumont swayed dangerously forward, and Madvig's hands went out to steady him but not quickly enough because Ned Beaumont's face came close to his and Ned Beaumont's lips brushed against the side of his mouth and Ned Beaumont's moustache scratched—only for a second—against his skin, and then Ned Beaumont drew back but only enough to lean his forehead against Madvig's, eyes closed, brows knitted as if deep in thought, and in the meanwhile Madvig's hands remained listless, wrapped around his upper arms without force.
Ned Beaumont let out a long breath, and when his eyes opened they found Madvig's wide and closer than they ought to be.
He stepped back, face red. His left foot was braced behind him in a position that would make it easy to stand his ground or turn and run.
Madvig brought his hand to the corner of his mouth and rubbed. He stared at Ned Beaumont with eyes of one-way glass.
Neither spoke.
"Must've lost my balance," Ned Beaumont said finally, after swallowing thickly. He contorted his face into something like a smile. "Maybe I did go a little heavy on the drinks."
After a long while of staring and nothing else Madvig said, "You missed your stop, too," hesitantly.
Ned Beaumont nodded. "I didn't eat much today."
"And the light's not great."
"It's not, no."
They continued to look at each other beneath a full, bright moon.
"I'll go," said Ned Beaumont. He turned away before Madvig could speak, shoving his hands in his pockets. After a few seconds of walking he took them out and pulled up the collar of his coat. He cleared his throat and blinked more than was normal for him.
“Ned,” called Madvig, and Ned Beaumont looked over his shoulder.
"I just realized," Madvig was saying from the porch, "I can get you a cab from here." He jabbed his thumb in the direction of the house. "I can phone."
"It's fine."
"It's no trouble. I don't want you to catch cold."
"You're sure?" Ned Beaumont asked.
"Am I sure— Hell, Ned! You can barely stand. Just— come wait inside."
Ned Beaumont trudged over and waited for him to move from the doorway. He allowed Madvig to point him in the direction of an armchair in the foyer and then allowed himself to collapse on it. Cold shaking fingers once again found, opened, and shut the silver lid of the cigar case in his pocket as Madvig went to the phone in the kitchen and spoke into it.
Ned Beaumont listened as he gave his address and received a time. He heard Madvig say, "All right, thanks . . . You too," and the click of the phone as it was hung on the receiver.
When Madvig returned Ned Beaumont made his leg stop bouncing. His dark eyes followed Madvig as he drew back the heavy drapes over the window facing the street.
"Shouldn't be long, maybe ten minutes," Madvig told him in a plain sort of way. "Be sure to lock up when you go. The key's under the mat."
Ned Beaumont nodded. He said, "Thanks," and sunk deeper into his chair as Madvig's heavy footsteps went up the stairs. His leg resumed its bouncing, his hand its fiddling with the cigar box. He chewed on his lower lip. With half-lidded eyes he watched the window for headlights.