Sex in C Major
Chapter 65

Yannis had turned onto his side on the sofa, and was still asleep.

For a moment, Stefan felt lost. What was he supposed to do in the house effectively on his own? He could leave, but...

He glanced towards the front door. Thought of his flat. The bare mattress. The swastika on his neighbour's door.

And Yannis, warm and sleeping, in a duvet on the sofa. The shiver of the bass in the evening. Playing together.

Stefan didn't want to go. He wanted to wait. For Daz. And Yannis.

For both of them.

But what was he supposed to do?

The clock above the mantelpiece said it was half past six in the evening, and the time jump-started Stefan's brain. He'd been out most of the afternoon. If Yannis had cuddled him all that time, it meant he hadn't had lunch or dinner. He probably hadn't had breakfast. And Stefan was still a little too buzzed to be hungry, but Yannis had to be, right?

Inspiration. Daz had said that night they'd talked about it all that Yannis needed to be fed or he wouldn't bother if he was focused on something. And Yannis might not be focused when he woke up, but he'd been focused all day on Stefan.

So...

Stefan ducked into the kitchen. He'd never really done anything in here, barely even entered it. It was small and cramped, but stuffed to the gills with food. Most of it was in packages with Arabic writing, or showed pictures of food Stefan didn't recognise, but there was a loaf of bread in the cupboard, and four different types of cheese in the fridge.

Toasties it was.

Stefan made a mean toastie. It had been all he could cook when he'd been thrown out, and he'd perfected it long before he'd stopped burning water. He unearthed a cheese grater from another cupboard, and a couple of small bowls from the drying rack by the sink, and set to work. The best toasties always had several types of cheese, even if they had nothing else.

He burrowed in the fridge again, though, and came up with a packet of sliced...meat. It looked like chorizo or pepperoni, but the writing was all in Arabic again. When he broke a piece off and ate it, though, it tasted fine-perhaps lamb?-so he shredded that, too, and sprinkled it amongst the cheese.

They didn't own a toastie maker, but the grill worked fine, and Stefan made a batch as his stomach clued into the goings-on and made its demands known. Figuring Yannis wouldn't mind, Stefan polished the first two off himself before making the rest, and by the time he heard movement in the next room, he had a towering plate of melting cheese, toasted bread, and...possible-lamb-chorizo-thing.

When he took it into the next room, though, Yannis was still asleep.

"Um," Stefan said. He put the plate on the floor and perched carefully on the sofa by Yannis' hip. He'd just turned again. And the ginger cat was sitting on the arm, purring against the top of his head. "Yannis?"

Nothing.

"Yan."

That earned a grumble, and Stefan dared to shake a hidden shoulder. Eyelids cracked open. The scowl was venomous.

"What."

The voice was even more venomous, and Stefan bit his lip to prevent himself from smiling. It wasn't scary. It wasn't even masterful.

It was someone who hated getting up.

"You need to have something to eat."

"Later."

"I made some toasties."

"Later."

"Now."

The order slipped out before Stefan could prevent it, and he winced when Yannis narrowed his eyes into slits.

"I mean...Daz-Daz won't like it if he replaces out you didn't eat."

"He's not my master."

"But he won't like it. And you'll argue. And it's Christmas."

"Which means fuck all to "

"Which means you shouldn't row unless someone's racist old uncle is being inappropriate or everyone's really drunk, and that's a rule, whether you celebrate Christmas or not," Stefan said in a rush. "So I've made you something to eat and you're supposed to eat it."

The look was downright murderous-and then Yannis levered himself up, and sagged against the back of the sofa.

"Fine."

He said another word after fine, which Stefan guessed was possibly Arabic for cocksucker. When he asked, Yannis merely smirked.

"Turkish. And along those lines."

"Well...Daz says I'm getting better at it."

"Good for you."

It was said in a distinctly uncaring tone, but the look Yannis gave the plate was less hostile, and he began to pack them away with dedication. Stefan slid further back onto the sofa, and blinked when the cat imperiously stalked right over Yannis and onto Stefan's lap instead.

"Um-"

"Constantinople."

"Seriously?" Stefan asked, carefully scratching the cat behind the ears. It purred, and began to knead its claws into his towel.