Flaming

“Thanks, but—”

“Hey, just remember, once upon a time, you thought success looked like Hudson. That tool.”

Zakary chuckles. He hasn’t given Hudson much thought in a long time. Last thing he heard, the guy quit acting altogether and was working at a hardware store back in their hometown. “Okay, so my world was … considerably smaller a year ago …”

“We should never sit still as artists,” Jonatho goes on, clearly on a mission. “We should always be plunging headfirst into the things we fear. Embrace the changes in your life. Look forward to whatever’s next, even if it scares the shit out of you.”

“You always describe things so dramatically.”

“It’s literally my job.” Jonatho joins Zakary at the couch with glasses of champagne, where they cuddle up in a state of half-dress, the lights of the city shining over their heads from the large windows behind them. “Didn’t I tell you? I saw this coming for you all along, ever since we first met.”

Zakary rolls his eyes. “You keep saying that.”

“But do you realize it’s what made me pull you out of the wings of that stage back in Dallas?”

Zakary turns to him mid-sip, confused.

“It’s true,” Jonatho goes on. “You think it was on account of just some dye job that caused you to finally hatch? You have always had a presence about you, even before the flaming red hair.”

“Well, I’m sure the hair helped,” says Zakary, one eyebrow lifted dubiously.

“I think it helped you. It didn’t allow you to fade into the background anymore. Invisibility became … well, impossible. Or impractical. Or both. The point is, I saw you in the wings of that big stage, lurking, waiting for your turn. I wondered how long you’d been like that growing up … waiting for your turn.”

My whole life, Zakary might say. But he simply gazes into Jonatho’s eyes and returns a smirk. “I want to hear more about you writing a musical.”

“Well, it’s book and lyrics,” he clarifies, “but I’m sure once we find the right composer, we’ll start to seriously consider—”

“I remember where you were, too,” says Zakary suddenly. “Back in Dallas. You were ready to give up and call it quits when we met. You were right on the brink of losing your faith in Theatre—in the very thing you loved.”

Jonatho gazes back into Zakary’s eyes. His face softens, as if he’s finally decided to let his boyfriend’s words sink in. Right on the brink of losing your faith in Theatre … in the very thing you loved …

“Maybe we saved each other,” finishes Zakary.

A smile spills over Jonatho’s handsome face, the kind of smile his eyes join in on, twinkling with pride as he gazes at Zakary. “I’m so proud of you.”

The two come together for a kiss, and whatever remains of their glasses is forgotten like they were never poured. Zakary feels his shirt slip straight off his body, dropping to the floor. Jonatho’s is next as Zakary’s fingers greedily peel it off. Jonatho falls back on the couch as Zakary crawls over him, their lips never separating.

Until a cat jumps onto the couch, startling them.

“Dang it, Tiger,” groans Jonatho as the kiss comes to an abrupt end, interrupted by an obvious feline emergency. “I was enjoying some long-awaited time celebrating with my boyfriend …”

“Aww, maybe her bowl is empty.”

“What about my bowl?” mumbles Jonatho.

Zakary chuckles. “Let’s push the pause button. I know if we get started now, we’ll never stop.”

Jonatho suppresses a growl of excitement. “You promise?”

Zakary hops up from the couch—and his sexy man—and heads to the kitchen with an eager Tiger trotting along behind him. Zakary goes to the pantry where Tiger’s cans of delicacies live, then pulls one down and sets it on the counter to open it. That’s when Tiger goes especially crazy, purring and circling his legs, now and then meowing in desperate panic, like it’s a serious possibility that her food won’t come fast enough. She is always starving.

And so is Zakary’s boyfriend. “Y’know, at times like these, I’m convinced you love that furry creature more than me,” he says from the couch.

“What makes you say that?” asks Zakary—as he gives Tiger the princess treatment, filling her bowl, then proceeding to pet her delicately as she eats.

“Oh, I can’t imagine what,” says Jonatho with a smirk. “Should’ve left her behind in Dallas to harass whoever took over your apartment when you left.”

“I know you’re kidding,” says Zakary, “but you’d better hope Tiger doesn’t learn English or else she’s going to have a problem with your quips—and she’ll let you know next time you sleep.”

“She’d better hope I don’t learn Meowish,” he playfully spits right back.

Zakary gazes up at Jonatho from the floor where he continues to love on Tiger. “Besides, what can I say? I took the advice of a wise friend back then, and I … decided to see all of the signs. I read them. She wanted to be in my life, so who am I to deny her?” He smiles. “Maybe we saved each other, too.”