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It starts with a dream about clocks.
One September morning, Monty jolts awake with a gasp. He finds sunlight already poking through the shutters of the cannery and that he is shaking for some strange reason. Something moves beside him and suddenly his field of vision is consumed by Thomas’ face.
“What’s wrong?” he asks and gently pushes a strand of hair from Monty’s forehead.
“Nothing,” Monty takes a deep breath, his voice is thick with sleep, “Jus’ a weird dream.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Everything’s fine, trust me, it was just…”
“Tell me anyways,” Thomas curls up next to him and noses his jaw, “I want to know what goes on inside your pretty bird head.”
He rolls his eyes and, seduced by the promise of kisses, begins to mumble about how he was in Mick’s shop and looking for a particular clock, but there was someone there who wasn’t Mick and wouldn’t tell him where it was. The Cat King in the meantime busies himself with pressing soft lips to his neck, but every time Monty thinks he has lost interest and stops, he raises his head and asks him to keep going, so he does until he has a hickey and his boyfriend knows every last detail of his stupid clock dream.
“What did you dream about tonight?” he asks in between kisses.
“About blowing you”, Thomas answers without missing a beat, and Monty gives him a playful smack.
The morning continues without any mention of dreams (but with mention of blowjobs), and Monty would probably have forgotten about this.
But the Cat King keeps asking about his dreams, soon every morning begins with kisses and the question Whatcha dreaming about? Monty is willing to give every detail about the things his mind cooks up while in stand-by, especially if it gets him sex, but something is bothering him about this.
*
“What did you really dream about?” he asks Thomas one morning while the other is prodding him about a dream involving an airplane.
Because when he asks the Cat King about his dreams, he tells him that he was dreaming about him, the cats, or the town, but Monty can tell that he’s lying. And if Monty’s dreams are so important to Thomas, why should his dreams not be important to Monty?
“I told you; I dreamt about Snowbell having her babies,” Thomas sounds defensive.
“No, you didn’t.”
“I’m sorry my dreams don’t meet your standards, but that’s what I dreamt about!”
Monty is quiet for a moment. Then, because he is feeling like creating his own problems:
“You’re dreaming about Edwin, aren’t you?”
Thomas looks at him, brows furrowed.
“Edwin? No, I… What? No!”
“You’ve been dreaming about him this whole time, and you want to suss out if I’ve been dreaming about him too so that you don’t have to be the bad guy! Just fucking admit it!”
He has shoved him away now and stands up.
“Just say it! Say that I am the second-rate consolation price and that you’d rather be with him.”
“Fuck, baby, I haven’t thought about Edwin in months, and I’m certainly not dreaming about him!” Thomas sounds like he is trying not to raise his voice, but something is bubbling in his chest.
“Then why are you lying to me?”
For a while, the cannery is quiet, it’s just them, Monty with crossed arms in his pyjamas, and Thomas on the bed, unresolved tension in the air. Then, in a tone Monty doesn’t think he’s heard before from his boyfriend, Thomas says:
“I don’t… really dream… anymore. Haven’t for a while now.”
Something about the way he says it makes Monty’s anger blow over like smoke. There is a deep sadness in Thomas’ voice, like he is grieving someone, and it makes Monty feel so sorry for him.
“That’s why I want to hear about your dreams,” Thomas continues quietly, “Because I want to know them. Because I miss...”
His voice seemingly fails him, and he looks away from Monty, pressing his lips together as if trying not to cry. Seeing him like this makes the rest of Monty’s fury disappear.
“Hey,” he coos and approaches the bed again, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend and laying his head on his shoulders, “I’m sorry for yelling. I didn’t know. Why have you never told me? You didn’t have to make stuff up; you could have just said something. I would have stopped prying.”
Thomas pulls him closer.
“I thought you’d find that freaky,” he mumbles into Monty’s hair, “And not the sexy kind.”
Monty snorts.
“Well, I’ll just dream for the both of us then.”
“Thank you,” Thomas sighs, as if Monty just agreed to something way bigger than sharing his dreams with him, “And for the record, you are not a consolation price. You are a fucking golden trophy with blue ribbon, okay? I would not be with you if you weren’t.”
Not knowing what to say, Monty just smiles and kisses him. Sincerity from the Cat King is always strange. To smooth the moment over, after the kiss ends, he says:
“And for the record, I do find you freaky. The sexy kind.”
Thomas laughs, but it sounds shaky. Then he clears his throat and tries to move on like nothing ever happened.
“So, you were on a plane and the guy from the drug store was the pilot?”
Monty decides to indulge him and tries to continue recalling his latest weirdo dream. Because if that’s what Thomas needs, he, as his gold trophy with blue ribbon, is more than happy to give it to him.
*
Weeks go by like this. September ends and in the first week of October the temperatures unexpectedly climb up again, and this is when Snowbell decides to finally have her babies. Monty and Thomas visit the kittens and their parents often in an abandoned house in town, not far from where Esther’s house stands in silence, gaping like an open wound. Thomas sits there in cat form, making sure all his subjects are well, and Monty holds between one and four kittens in his lap at any given time, taking in their tiny high-pitched meows and smiling at their attempts at biting him.
Other than that, he works at the library now, three days a week, and spends the rest with Thomas. Sitting on the roof of the cannery at night and watching the stars, having his guts rearranged by him, or reading on their bed while a sleek black cat loafs in his lap. This is what it’s like to be loved. This is what it’s like to be loved back.
Then, one day, Monty is in charge of organising the flyer display in the library. Outdated flyers are thrown away, new flyers are put in, a play for the local children, guitar lessons, someone’s selling a boat and… a single glossy travel magazine?
“Oh, that”, says James, who has taken over as head librarian after Maxine died so tragically, “They send us one issue every once in a while, hoping that we buy a subscription, but we won’t, it’s too expensive. Just throw it away.”
“Actually,” Monty looks at the photo on the cover, a ruin on a cliff, surrounded by green fields, sheep peacefully grazing like they are not currently witnessing what has to be one of the most beautiful views known to man, the headline inviting him to Discover Ireland.
“Could I, um, take it home with me?”
“Sure,” Michael says, already back at troubleshooting the printer, “If you want.”
Oh, Monty wants to. That magazine becomes his new favourite thing in the world, next to Thomas, the kittens, and Iced Lattes with almond milk. He spends hours buried in it, twirling his hair around while reading the articles over and over and over. He learns about Ireland, the big topic of this issue, but also about Iceland, where they have Puffins, and about Hong Kong, where the traditional art of handmade neon signs is slowly disappearing. And the pictures! More than once, Monty has considered cutting one out and putting it up on the wall, but that would mean losing the article on the other side, and that he can’t bear. How else is he going to learn about the river in Germany that sunk so many ships it sparked a legend?
*
“Close your eyes!”
Monty looks up from the magazine and is met with yellow eyes and a cheeky smile.
“Why?”
“Your king commands it,” the smile grows, “I have a surprise.”
“Okay…” he draws out the Y, but still closes his eyes. He can feel the magazine he has been reading for weeks now being lifted from his laps, and his stomach clenches with anxiety, my treasure! My prized possession!
“Gimme your hand,” Thomas purrs.
Monty obeys and feels a kiss on the back of his hand, then one on the palm, and then something that feels like paper.
“Open your eyes!” Thomas sounds mighty pleased with himself, and at first, Monty does not know why. In his hands there is indeed a piece of paper, it has a time, a date next week, a dollar amount and…
“Is that a…bus ticket to Canada?” he asks, even though it very clearly is.
“Exactly, how did you know?” Thomas laughs and drops himself next to Monty onto the bed, “you are so in love with that thing over there, I thought maybe you wanted to see one of the places in person.”
Monty is lost for words. He just stares at the paper in his hands. Round Trip to VANCOUVER, 1 Adult. For the first time, it occurs to him that the places in the magazine are real, and that he could just go there.
He is a crow, for fuck’s sake, how did he not think of that before?
“That’s… amazing,” he says, and a gigantic smile rips his face in half. The magazine has an article on Vancouver, about the parks and gardens to be specific, and Monty will see them, he will see them, next Thursday.
“I know,” the Cat King gently rests his chin on his shoulder, “all my ideas are amazing.”
That snaps Monty out of his trance and he turns to plant a huge kiss on his boyfriend’s lips and throws them both onto the matrass. Thomas huffs and grabs two hands full of Monty’s ass, groaning when the crow that is a boy starts grinding on him.
A silken blouse and a thrifted long-sleeve are already on the floor when Monty suddenly stops and sits up.
“Where’s your ticket?”
The Cat King hesitates for a moment.
“There is just one ticket”, he says slowly, and gently squeezes Monty’s thighs, “Because I’m not coming. I don’t want to leave Snowbell and her kittens alone, not when they are so young and the weather could turn any minute now.”
Euphoria is replaced by anxiety that settles in Monty’s stomach like cement.
“Oh, I thought… I-I’ve never been outside of Port Townsend, I guess I would like my boyfriend to be with me. And I thought you’d want to be with me, too.”
“Baby,” Thomas sighs and takes his hands into his, “of course I want to be there. But unfortunately, King isn’t just an empty title, it comes with responsibilities and all shit. You’ll be fine, trust me. You can tell me everything afterwards.”
Monty bites his lip. Going somewhere, let alone without Thomas, suddenly sounds really intimidating, but he would lie if it also didn’t sound kind of exciting.
“Are you sure that it’s okay?” He whispers.
“Would I have bought you the ticket if it wasn’t?” Thomas playfully rolls his eyes and pulls him closer once again, “I can’t fucking wait for you to come back and tell me everything.”
*
The next Thursday, Monty is so excited he can’t force anything down for breakfast. Thomas persuades him to pack a sandwich and a drink for the journey, checks that he has his wallet, passport and ticket, and then walks him to the bus station like the gentleman he is. Monty is in high spirits, his phone with his itinerary open in one hand and Thomas’ hand in the other, running down his plan over and over again and considering whether he should skip the Chinese Garden in favour of spending more time in Stanley Park, which has better Google Reviews. The long-distance bus stop is nothing more than a sign with the image of a bus on it on the side of the road, and Monty only fully believes that it is real when he sees the Greyhound slinking around the bend of the road. The Cat King waves, and the driver stops to let Monty on, after the mandatory good-bye kiss, of course.
“Have fun, birdie,” he whispers into Monty’s ear and presses his lips to the place bellow his ear lobe, “Take photos for me, yeah?”
Monty nods, takes his seat on the bus and gives his boyfriend a final wave through the window, and he waves back. The bus starts driving again with a hiss, and Monty expects Thomas to leave the bus station to get back to his kingdom, but he stays, becoming smaller and smaller in the distance, until the bus turns a corner, and Monty can’t see him anymore.
The magazine was right. Vancouver truly is the gem on the west coast. After the lady at the border has no complaints about Monty’s definitely real, 100% legit passport and a brief hour more on the bus, he touches ground in Canada and is immediately blown away. Despite his pretty tight schedule, the first thing he does is sit on a bench overseeing False Creek just outside the Central Station where the bus spat him out and eat the sandwich Thomas foisted upon him. His stomach tingles with excitement when the realisation sets in that he is no longer in Port Townsend.
“This is the first time I am somewhere else”, he mumbles, luckily no one is around to see him. If only Thomas was here with me.
Remembering his promise, he takes out his phone and snaps a picture of the surprisingly bright October sun bouncing of the water and illuminating the boats tumbling between the waves. Then he gets up, takes a swig from his water bottle, and heads towards Science World.
Every step he takes in the foreign city grows Monty’s confidence. After his tour of the museum and a visit to the gift shop, he makes his way to the next stop on his schedule with a big dumb tourist smile on his face. After a bit, he gets an idea, looks around and dips into a bush. Moments later, a black bird hops out of the shrubbery, puffs his feathers, and takes off across the harbour.
Flying is truly the greatest freedom anyone could ever feel. Monty has spent so long in a cage, either the physical cage with bars or the figurative cage of a strange, unfamiliar boy-body, both of them created by Esther to tie Monty down and use him. Now he can switch between his forms, is free to fly or to run wherever he wants, and for the first time that he can remember, he can breathe freely.
He sets down in another park; changes form out of view and continues his outing. In the Inuit Gallery, he becomes bolder and asks one of the attendants about an artwork he finds interesting, and the girl he’s talking to turns out to be the single most amazing person in Vancouver. They chat for almost twenty minutes, and when Monty leaves the gallery again, they follow each other on Instagram, and he is on the way on a lunch place his new friend recommended.
“If you’re ever in Quebec,” she told him as she typed her handle into his phone, “they have a bunch of really amazing galleries there too!”
If you’re ever in Quebec.
Yes, why shouldn’t he get to Quebec one day? Or Hong Kong or Ireland or Iceland?
(He’s fine with never going to London)
By then, Snowbell’s babies will be all grown up and Thomas will be able to come with him, and they can walk through an unknown city together, exchanging kisses and holding hands, like the couple they are.
*
When the Greyhound comes to a halt in Port Townsend again, the Cat King is waiting at the station. If he wasn’t wearing something different; Monty would have questioned whether or not he has been standing there all day. But regardless, he jumps into his arms, pressing an enthusiastic kiss to his lips and soaking up his smell.
“Someone enjoyed their day!”, teases Thomas and slides a strong arm around his slim waist.
Monty nods and as soon as his mouth opens, words spill out, and he talks with his hands so much that he almost slaps Thomas a few times. When they are back at the cannery, the field report is interrupted for a nice fuck, Thomas sinks deeply into him and Monty moans and beg for more. Afterwards, the Cat King asks to see the photos, and Monty is all to happy to show them to him.
“Look, that’s us!” he laughs as he shows a part of the exhibition at Science World, a taxidermized big cat lunging for a bird.
“Yeah, I think that’s exactly how I popped your cherry,” Thomas hums lowly and laughs at Monty’s eyeroll.
“I wish you’d been there,” the crow that is a boy says.
“Me too baby,” he pulls him closer, “me too.”
“The next time we’ll go there together.”
“Nothing I’d love more, trust me.”
*
In the weeks until mid-November, Monty travels infinitely more than in the decades before. That might not mean much when he has been living in a cage before, but still. He has been to Olympic National Park, Seattle, has taken a nice flight over the sea to Victoria and has spent a quiet few hours on one of the small uninhabited islands in between the two countries, letting the wind toy with his hair and tasting the salt on his lips. All of it is amazing.
All of it is him alone.
According to Thomas, it’s not that his boyfriend doesn’t want to come or doesn’t care, and he will ask about his trips and demand photos. But there is always an excuse, always a dispute for him to resolve, always a subject that needs him, always a reason that he needs to stay in Port Townsend.
“I want to come with you…”
“Then do it, I don’t understand why you can’t!”
They are in the cannery, having a spat that originated over Monty’s suggestion they go to a festival his friend from Vancouver is helping to organise and has since evolved into something much bigger.
“Believe me…”
“How?” Monty asks, “How am I supposed to believe you? Because all I ever hear from you are excuses, made up lies about the cats or whatever. Just say you don’t want to come with me and be done with it!”
“They aren’t lies, I keep telling you, I have a kingdom to run. I’m sorry a part-time librarian has trouble understanding that.”
“Oh, give me a break! Most of the day you do fuck all, and every time I want to go somewhere you turn into Your Majesty Micro Manager the Fourth! Just say what’s actually the problem.”
“Well, what do you think the problem is, since you are apparently all knowing.”
For a moment, Monty is quiet. Then, he decides to go in for the kill.
“It’s because you’re going to London while I’m away, aren’t you?”
The Cat King throws his hands up.
“Not this shit again.”
“I don’t hear you denying it.”
“What do you want me to say to that? It is you who keeps brining up that bloody ghost. And no, I do not go to wherever to fuck somebody else while you are gone. I can’t fucking believe you are accusing me of cheating because I’m not coming with you to a stupid festival.”
“But why, I don’t…”
“It’s because I CAN’T!”
Thomas roars so loud the windows rattle and Monty’s ears ring.
“I cannot. Fucking. Leave. This. TOWN!” His eyes are bulging out of his head, the yellow like that of a burning fire. “Not by foot, not by bus, not by mirror. I am bound to this shitty fucking place for all eternity, and they will not make an exception for anything, not for me, not for you. I don’t like it either, trust me, if it was after me, we’d be having sex in Egypt right now. But life, as you might have noticed, is an unfair cunt.”
He falls back onto his throne, hand in his heads.
“Go on,” he says, quieter, but not any less serious, “Leave.”
“Ex- Excuse me?” Monty isn’t sure he has heard him right.
“As if you’re going to stay with a guy chained to a dying town in Washington State,” Thomas huffs a joyless laugh, “No one ever will.”
And for a moment, there they are. Thomas on his throne and Monty before him, both in silence. Then, Monty decides to take a tentative first step.
“I think you should let me decide that” his voice is calm and clear, “Because I will stay with a guy like that if he starts being honest with me right this moment. No more lies, no more deflections.”
He has approached the throne, looking down at his boyfriend.
“This is related to you not dreaming, right?”
The thought hasn’t even consciously occurred to him before the words have left his mouth, but as they hang in the air, it feels so obvious.
Thomas takes a deep breath and reaches for Monty’s hand.
“What did Esther tell you about me?”
He cringes at that name, but braves through it.
“Not much, actually. She just talked about you if you were going on her nerves that particular day. I don’t even think she mentioned that you were a cat before I asked about it.”
“So, she never talked about my parents?”
Monty shakes his head.
“Well, that’s because I don’t have parents, not in the way others have. I was created by someone called Desire of the Endless, one of the Endless Siblings who rule the universe or whatever.”
His tone aims for casualness but can’t conceal the pain beneath his words.
“I don’t know why they did it. They were probably just bored. And for a few hundred years, I had fun, I was fucking people, ruling over the cats of the world, traveling all over the place, but then… You see, when Desire created me, they kind of fucked up. I am too powerful, I breach into too many of the other Endless’ domains, I should not exist as I do now. But that also meant that the other Endless, Death, Destiny, Dream, and Destruction, could not get rid of me so easily. Desire couldn’t unmake me even if they wanted, and they can’t kill me. But since I am apparently so dangerous, they forced Desire to do two things: Make me semi mortal and confine me to a place where I can do the least amount of damage. And that’s how I got here, and why I can’t leave. Not even to go to fuck someone, if your still worried about that.”
“And the dreams?”
Thomas sniffs, his eyes are wet with tears.
“Dream is… my creator’s brother. I always knew that they were fighting, but I was always welcome in his realm. I even thought he kind of liked me. But a few years ago, I stopped dreaming. I tried to get to him through magic, tried to tell him that whatever this was about, I was sorry, I was going to make it up to him, he could take one of my lives if he wanted, but it was crickets all the way down. My dreams were the one thing that could get me away from this place, if only for a few hours, and now I don’t even have them anymore.”
“Have you talked to Desire about this?”
“No. They haven’t spoken to me in centuries. Guess they are bored of me. Dream was the last Endless to drop me, now not even Death comes when I die.”
And then he starts to sob, and all Monty can do is hold him close and let his sweater soak up his tears.
*
Monty softly asks how far Thomas can go, and Thomas agrees to show him. The next day, they are walking through the forest like they’ve done it many times before, as humans or as cat and crow, but this time with a plan.
“So you were already here when…”
“Yeah,” Thomas doesn’t need Monty to finish to get what he means, “I was actually kind of excited when Esther made that deal. Finally something exciting was happening. But then she just killed random girls to stay young, boring as hell if you ask me.”
He hums in response and pulls his jacket closer. Winter is well and truly here now and the dead leaves he and Thomas are trudging through are covered in hoarfrost.
“We’re here,” The Cat King says, having suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.
Monty looks around. It’s a pretty much random spot in the woods, nothing special. He looks around and takes a step forward.
“So, if I’m here, you can’t follow me?”
“No,” Thomas looks frozen in place, his body tense. Despite this, he lets Monty take his hand and lift it, but when Monty tries to pull it towards him, Thomas’ arm seems to turn to steel. Monty tries and tries, but it won’t budge, and eventually the Cat King snatches his arm back.
“Stop, you’re fucking hurting me!” he snaps and shakes his hand in pain.
“I’m Sorry!” Monty steps back into the town and gently takes the injured paw to examine it. There are four half-moon shaped indentions from his fingernail on the palm, and Monty kisses them apologetically.
They decide to walk along the border for a bit, Thomas on the side of the town, Monty just outside of it, their hands occasionally touching briefly. The air is chilly and birds are flying over their heads, the woods are quiet except for their footsteps.
After some time, they find a large stone that is overgrown with moss.
“You know what that is?” Thomas asks.
“I think that’s a stone.”
“I should really stop dating such smartasses. No, well, yes, it’s a stone, but it’s a special one. It’s a border stone, a magical thing that marks the divides between especially powerful places and the ordinary world.”
“And that’s what’s keeping you here?”
“It’s one of the things that does, yeah.”
“Can we move it?” Monty asks and reaches for the stone, but Thomas grabs his arm.
“No. Don’t touch it.”
“What?” Monty looks down at Thomas’ fingers digging into his arm, “Why?”
“Don’t fuck with things bigger than you, little bird. The Endless are cruel, they can’t kill me, but they can kill you if they want to”, there is a panicked edge to his voice, “You don’t want to know what it’s like to stop dreaming, trust me.”
“Okay, okay, let me go,” Monty says a little petulantly and wriggles his arm out of Thomas’ grasp, unnerved by his seriousness.
They keep on walking in silence. The day has been overcast anyways and it is slowly but surely getting dark, but Monty isn’t scared. Not of the darkness at least. He is a crow that is a boy, and his boyfriend is the King of Cats, the night doesn’t have shit in them. But the Endless, whatever they are, apparently have. This is all still a bit of a mystery to him, with Dream and Desire and Death and all that, but what he understands is that Thomas is hurt and fucking terrified, and he wants him not to be.
On their way along the town’s edge, they encounter a large tree growing directly on the border, and they have to split up, Thomas going around one side and Monty around the other. The trunk is the thickest Monty has ever seen in person, two people hugging it from either side probably would have trouble reaching each other’s hands. When Thomas disappears behind the dark wood, Monty suddenly becomes convinced that he has disappeared, that there will come a point where Desire or Dream or whoever will change their mind and take his boyfriend away from him forever. This fear makes him not watch his way, and his foot gets caught in a tree root which sends him crashing to the floor.
For a second, he stays there, face buried in wet leaves, because he instinctively assumes Thomas will help him up. But then he remembers that he can’t, and lifts himself up, hands burning from the fall. He spots the Cat King two meters away, so close yet trapped in an invisible cage, once again horribly tense.
“You okay baby?”
“Yeah, just tripped,” he mumbles and awkwardly shuffles over to him. Thomas wipes the dust of his jacket and pants and examines his hands like a mother cat and then pulls him into a kiss and a hug.
They stay like this for a minute or so, just them and the forest and the ever present and uncaring gods governing their existence. Eventually, Monty pulls Thomas’ sleeve.
“Let’s go home. ‘m getting cold.”
It’s not a lie, by the time they are back at the cannery Monty’s teeth are chattering. The Cat King summons a comfy rug and a lit fireplace for them to sit down and eat their takeout pizzas picked up on way home. They sit in silence for a while, just munching their food, both occupied with their own thoughts.
“Thomas.”
“Hm.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, birdie.”
“I wish I had brought you cards from all the places I’ve been at.”
“The photos and stories are perfectly fine, trust me. Like I’m seeing Vancouver or whatever through your eyes.”
Silence again.
“I’ll take photos at the art festival too, I promise.”
“Can’t wait.”
Once they are done with their pizzas, they throw the boxes away and head to bed, both feeling to tired to do anything else on a cold, overcast night.
That night, Monty will dream of a man asking him for directions in a town he himself has never been in, and he’ll tell Thomas about it in the morning. In three weeks, Monty will visit his new friend, and they’ll go to a festival together, where he meets a bunch of other amazing people, and he tells them about his awesome boyfriend who sadly couldn’t make it but for whom he’s taking photos, and when he’s home, he shares his experiences with the black cat who is contently purring in his lap.
This is what it’s like to be loved. This is what it’s like to be loved back.