InsaneJournal

Tall dark and handsome, a cigar in your mouth
Who: Matt and Tom
What: Old friends discover new spooky things (like ghosties...or rather, a certain ghostie...)
Where: Matt’s apartment
When: July 27th~ (Hella backdated)


Matthew Buchanan wasn’t one for house guests or even many visitors. He kept to himself in his tidy home and he was alright with that. For what friends he did have, most were still on the east coast, so his social life had dimmed considerably since moving to California. Still, Tom was there and Matt spent what time he could with his old friend until he felt the familiar burn out of too much time around another person.

Tonight was not really one of those nights though. He had kept to himself for weeks following the discovery that all those he tested were his apartment mates and was starting to get a little antsy. Beside running into Isobel and going to Alice’s apartment, he didn’t see much of anyone, so he was quite happy when Tom sent a vague message that amounted to an invitation to Matthew’s home.

Matthew even went so far as to make some roasted pepper soup just to entertain and feed his friend with. He even considered broaching the idea of getting together a D&D group with his friend if Tom didn’t have that much to share. When Matt heard Tom’s familiar knock, he smiled and headed for the door. “I’m glad you get to finally see my place,” Matt said as he opened it to his friend. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and smiled. “I made soup, made sure it’s all vegan products too.”

The delicious smell of whatever amazing soup Matt had cooked up hit Thomas like a freight train, his stomach grumbling in response. “Is that what that is?” He asked, bright-eyed and smiling through a mid-month addition of a short beard that he couldn’t quite seem to shave off completely. It just kept growing back, and he had a thought that he might end up like Forrest Gump before the summer was finished if he couldn’t keep it neatly trimmed.

“I just about swallowed my tongue, it smells so good!” He stepped inside, glad at the thought of not only enjoying Matt’s company, but his cooking, too. “Boy, am I sure glad to see ya today Matt, ‘cause let me tell ya, this place is gettin’ crazier than a road-runnin’ lizard.” Thomas glanced around his friend’s apartment as he walked further inside, looking for anything that seemed to be out of the ordinary. “I just wanted to check on ya and all, on account of the oddities. Giant snakes and birds, the Good Lord only knows what might be up here with ya, and I can’t suffer the thought of ya bein’ in danger or the likes.”

“I’ve heard of weird things going on in the apartment based on the message boards and what not,” Matt replied as he moved towards the kitchen and lifted the lid off the pot of soup. He frowned at it, although not really at it, but at the fact that he too had experienced oddities. He just found it hard to admit as much. Forcing a smile, he looked back at his friend as he moved to get bowls. “Has anything happened with you in particular?”

“Well, there’s snakes on my floor. Huge critters, never seen anything like ‘em before, not even in a zoo. ‘Course, I know well enough to leave ‘em alone.” He eyed the counters until he spotted a roll of paper towels, then tore two sections off--one for each of them. Rambling on, he looked through the kitchen drawers until he found spoons. “My friend Nish’s got a bird problem, some kinda vulture thing keeps destroyin’ her kitchen and leavin’ behind its feathers. Sure can’t make this stuff up, Matt.” Despite the strangeness of it all, Thomas couldn’t help but let his smile affect his tone, glad-hearted even in the face of absurdity. “What kinda critters ya got up here?”

Matthew licked at his lips, concentrating on grabbing bowls and filling them with the hot soup. “Well…” his voice was low and drifted off, a clear sign of how uncomfortable the conversation was already making him. All the same, this was his friend and Tom was so upfront about the strange things he saw, so why not be honest? “It’s like I have a ghost in the apartment. Things move, there’s this weird noise that happens behind me and I turn and the noise is gone. I thought I saw a cat at one point, then a dog, then a hairy man. It’s always at the corner of my eye and always when things are moving on their own. Whenever I turn, it’s gone. And then…”

He turned away from the stove with two steaming bowls of roasted pepper soup and moved in the direction of the large dining area table. “I had bread out the other day--I just went grocery shopping and I got a loaf of French bread for the soup. It was sitting out here and I went back downstairs to get more groceries. When I came back, it was half eaten. But ever since, there hasn’t been the ghost activity, so I just keep leaving bread out.”

Thomas’ eyes grew large in amazement, and he stared widely at his friend. “Bonafide specters,” he said slowly, drawing out the words in a stage whisper. “Matt, ya know how amazin’ this is?” Excitedly, he followed Matthew to the table, setting down the spoons and napkins. Thomas pulled out a chair first for Matthew, and then headed around to the opposite side to pull one out for himself, too. “I’ve never heard of ghosts wantin’ to eat bread, of all the things they could be devourin’, but maybe this one’s special.”

Sitting down at his place, Thomas took a quick look behind the chair, left and right, just for good measure. “Ya don’t suppose they’d go gluten-free if ya asked? ‘Cause I’ve half a mind to set them straight.” Matthew didn’t seem to be in a jovial mood, but it was nothing new to Thomas--he’d already determined that he’d make light of the situation as much as possible, to try and alleviate his friend’s discomfort. Besides, there wasn’t any harm in directly confronting the problem of strange beasts and creatures, was there? It’d hardly gone wrong for him, and he’d made sure that things were fine with Nish, too. So far, he hadn’t heard of anyone actually getting hurt by the sudden infestations.

“Only if they wanted a more liberatin’ lifestyle, of course.” He paused in his jesting, trying to more seriously contemplate the matter. “Sure seems like a lot of these critters folks are findin’ here just want food. Could be they’re gettin’ pushed outta their natural habitats.”

“But what natural habitats?” Matthew questioned, forever the serious scholar. “This building has been up for a long time and the area around it hasn’t been in its natural state for years. I’d understand if this was a new building in a developing area, but it’s not. And I don’t believe ghosts can eat so whatever this thing is… it can’t be a ghost. But like you said, they’re critters...and what natural habitat could they be getting pushed from?”

He plunged his spoon into the steaming soup, stirring it lightly to bring up the tiny noodles he cooked in it. He shook his head, distrusting his own memories. “I’ve heard nothing but odd stories since I got here; do you think it’s all tied to the apartment? Like, the building itself. Maybe there’s a mold that’s making us hallucinate.”

Thomas shrugged, as clueless as his friend--possibly as clueless as anyone he’d met since moving into Pax. No one, not even the concierge downstairs (who, sadly, Thomas never seemed to catch in a good mood) seemed to have any idea what caused the oddities to occur on the apartment grounds.

“I reckon it’s all tied together,” he agreed, unfolding his napkin and placing it in his lap in case of spills. “‘Course, we’re lackin’ the full set of puzzle pieces to figure it out.” Thomas tilted his head, looking into his bowl of soup as if he’d find the answers within the tasty mixture. There weren’t any, unfortunately, but he nevertheless dipped his spoon into the liquid to begin his meal.

“Maybe the ghost took the bread like an offerin’,” he suggested after swallowing a spoonful. “Like eatin’ the body of Christ at Sunday Service, it’s all about tellin’ ya there’s a special symbolism to it.” Thomas took another bite of his soup, the noodles, vegetables, and spices blending together wholesomely. “Suppose this ghost is tryin’ send a message to ya? I know ya ain’t much for the spiritual, but…” He smiled warmly across the table at Matthew, well aware that the other man couldn’t fathom having faith in unknown probabilities, but knowing all the same that right now, the creatures inhabiting Pax were exactly that--unknown probabilities, mysterious creatures that had appeared out of seemingly nowhere. How could Matthew then deny the possibility of a greater force at work?

“God, what message could that be?” Matthew asked, a laugh escaping his throat like a cough. “My father coming back from the dead to judge me for leaving the church? Or not being a brain surgeon?” He couldn’t help but laugh, imagining his father gravely disappointed. But despite his humor, there was still that dull ache in the bit of his chest that missed his father deeply. “I guess I could try and talk to it if it showed up again.”

And as if on command, as if knowing that they were talking about it, there was a rattling in the kitchen and a huff of annoyance. Matt sat up straight and looked at his friend. “Did you hear that?”

Thomas’ bright smile neatly melted off his face, replaced by a more a melancholy lift at the corners of his mouth. He hadn’t meant to stir up thoughts of Matthew’s deceased father--he’d only meant to contemplate the meaning behind the creatures’ appearances.

The apology waited on the tip of his tongue, and Thomas had opened his mouth to say it when the disturbance occurred. He hushed what was much more than genial, southern hospitality, attention focusing on the noise. Brows narrowed together in a thoughtful, blond pinch, he nodded firmly at Matthew and held up a finger to his lips, indicating that silence might be preferable. His spoon now rested unused in the bowl, and he left his napkin on the tabletop as he stood, pushing the chair back quietly.

“Let’s take a gander,” Thomas said in hushed tones, “‘cause I reckon that’s the grand ol’ specter himself.” He should have felt afraid at the thought of an intruder in his friend’s home, but intrigue took hold of him. Stepping quietly, the displaced Texan moved towards the kitchen with Matthew and beheld a...cat?

It didn’t look too unusual, just a cat like any other. It could have been one of Bear’s littermates.

“I don’t recall leavin’ the door open, Matt...and I’ve never taken ya for a cat person.”

“I definitely haven’t gotten a pet,” Matt agreed as he got to his feet and followed his friend, coming up behind him a peering over Tom’s shoulder into the room at, sure enough, a black cat. It stood on the edge of the counter, balancing between the edge and the sink, and turned its large green eyes up to the surprised men. Matt let out a low noise of surprise followed simply by, “What the hell?”

Then the cat jumped off the counter and made a run for it. “Catch it, before it crawls inside a couch or something!” Matt yelled, throwing himself in the way of the cat, his hands going out and nearly catching hold of the animal but it was too quick and slipped through his hands. The funny thing was that the cat didn’t feel like a cat, but something cool to the touch. “Tom!” Matt yelled as he moved forward as the cat sprinted off into the dark living room.

The cat couldn’t be fake, it looked far too real. And, Tom noted as the cat tried to make a daring escape, it also acted just like a sneaky, bread stealing cat would act. Scrambling to action, Thomas tried to stop the cat’s escape when his friend wasn’t able to do so. He hurried after it into the living room, calling back to Matthew, “I’ll get the darn thing!”

Except in the darkened room, the black cat had been able to make itself nigh invisible. And, much to Thomas’ chagrin, he’d rushed headlong after it instead of being stealthy. He’d rushed fast enough, in fact, that he hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights...but couldn’t that possibly make the cat even less likely to crawl out from wherever it was hiding? Well, he’d see about that in a minute.

“That little critter’s faster than a palmetto bug,” he swore, eyes adjusting to the lack of adequate lighting as he inched around the room. Thomas ducked to look under the coffee table, reaching out his hand and patting nothing more than the carpeted floor. He stared hard at the couch, deciding that the cat had to either be hiding beneath it or behind the media stand somehow. Then, he heard what sounded like a plaintive mew coming from under the couch. Thomas smiled in victory, glancing over his shoulder. “Matt, can ya get the lights? I think I found him!”

“Here, kitty, kitty,” he sang softly, trying to sound like he’d be the perfect candidate for the cat to befriend. Dropping to his knees by the couch, Thomas slowly peeked into the potentially most dusty area in Matthew’s living room, hoping to see a pair of wide, mischievous feline eyes reflected back at him.

Matthew was already making his way to the light switch, flicking them on without a thought and creating a low glow of light in the room from two lights that were in the ceiling overhead. “You can turn on the light next to the couch,” Matthew pointed out, that light not being hooked up to the switch. At the very least, they could see now, even if the overhead lights were situated just so that there were still shadows across the room.

He moved forward to help his friend on light feet, a hand going out ever ready to catch the feline should it run out again, but then Matthew paused and drew still. His hand, his hand that was still very much together and a hand had become...faded. As if it was a part of a photograph where the coloring had been toyed with. It had lost the pale-pink quality of it and as Matthew lifted his hand, he realized he could just about see through it. “Tom,” Matthew said, his voice different and serious and low. “Tom, look up.”

To Thomas’ disappointment, no cat winked back at him from the depths of the couch’s under belly. Surely it was behind the media stand. He rose from his hunched position at the sound of Matthew's illuminating suggestion, resting carefully on his knees. “Matt, I can't find the critter, it's like it plumb disappeared on us,” he admitted with a touch of frustration.

It was then that he looked up, spotting first the switch he'd initially missed upon his haphazard entrance into the room, and then he shifted his gaze to his friend. The alarming tone in Matthew's voice put Thomas on alert, and he gaped at the other man, jaw falling open in the process.

“What on God's green earth happened to your hand?” His question came out as a stage whisper, a measure of surprise and concern that directly opposed his carefree joking earlier. Despite the now bright room, Matthew’s hand seemed to be almost wholly transparent, the light filtering through where once a limb had existed. Thomas swallowed the lump of shock in his throat, his gaze torn from the seemingly missing hand and following the line of what should've been Matthew's arm, his shoulder, his chest.

In fact, the same effect applied to the entirety of Matthew's body as it did his hand. Nothing but light reflecting straight through him, although when Thomas squinted, he could just make out the outline of his friend's shape. “Ya won't believe this, but I can see right into the kitchen through you. It's like ya went and became the specter.” Standing slowly out of surprise and wonder more than casually aging joints--thank yoga for its miracles--Thomas stepped closer to where Matthew appeared to be.

“What does it feel like? Does it hurt?”

Matthew was silent but his eyes, what little could be seen, were wide. He looked at his hand, extending it forward as his gaze traveled down his arm and to his legs. His friend was right, his entire form had become like a specter. He was there, he could see himself, but it was all vague outlines as his body seemed to be made of a light smoke brought together to create his form. Even his clothing had faded to the see-through quality. “I can believe it,” Matthew murmured as he turned his hand over and raised the other, comparing the two despite that there was no difference between them. He had gone see-through.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Matthew finally replied to Tom’s question, flicking his eyes up at his friend before looking at his hands again. “And it doesn’t feel like anything. I feel like me. It’s not any different than before…”

“I reckon both of us can't be hallucinatin’ the same thing, so it's gotta be a bonafide reality,” Thomas said with an air of wonder. He walked even closer to Matthew, then around where his friend had previously been standing. Correction: where he still was standing. The living room furniture and sparse decorations were as equally visible through Matthew's translucent form as the kitchen.

“Beats me how ya got turned into a wisp of a ghost, but,” Thomas murmured, finishing his inspective walk around Matthew, “ya don't think this was caused by that thievin’ cat?” He looked in the general spot where he assumed Matthew's face would be, likely introspective and moody as usual. If a ghost could still have expressions.

“Do ya mind if I…” Thomas momentarily trailed off, unsure if the question was appropriate under the circumstances. “Can ya touch my arm? Or will ya go right through it? If walkin’ through walls is on the menu, I gotta admit, I’m mighty keen on seein’ if it isn't a possibility.” He bravely held out his arm, waiting to see if Matthew would be able to make contact with him. Although Thomas had grown up overly sheltered by ultra reserved and conservative parents, he'd nonetheless secretly watched scores of horror movies at friends’ homes. Ghosts usually were portrayed as being cold...would Matthew's ghost hand bring a chill?

Matthew nodded, not at all realizing that he had faded completely from view, and reached for his friend. He went to grab Tom’s forearm, just as he had when they were kids, when he’d grab his friend’s arm and tug him down an empty hall in his home, hiding from his grumpy father. But this time, Matthew’s hand passed through his friend’s arm and only caused the slightest sensation for Matthew. Like his fingers had brushed through the very light strands of a fluffy feather--it was barely felt and there was hardly any resistance.

Matthew took a step back, sucking in air somehow deep into his lungs as a panicked sound escaped his lips. It was like the few dreams he had; the ones of the man who was made of smoke and mist. “Did you touch the cat?” Matthew asked, his voice a whisper. “How could a cat do this?”

Sure enough, when Matthew attempted to touch his arm, nothing but a sudden, shocking feeling of coldness hit him instead. It was localized to the exact spot on his arm where Thomas could have sworn he saw the vague outline of his friend’s hand, light filtering through the soft shadows that showed him that he wasn’t completely alone in the room.

Ghosts were cold, but not in the way that movies portray them to be; and besides, Matthew clearly still lived, and so he technically wasn’t a ghost.

Thomas’ eyes brightened, and as they did, a smile shined through his newly acquired, semi-permanent 12 o’clock shadow. “I never caught up to the critter, but Matt, suppose this isn’t from the cat after all!” He held up his arm, blinking as he studied the spot which formerly had felt cold. There were no marks, no evidence whatsoever that his otherworld-turned best friend had touched him.

“Suppose this is something bigger than a bread thievin’ feline!” Delighted, Thomas all but forgot about his previous desperate search for the ghostly cat, defender of gluten and petty crime. “I gotta say, Matt, there’s a lot of strange stuff happenin’ here, but I reckon this could be beneficial! Imagine, ya can avoid ever havin’ to deal with situations which put ya ill at ease--disappear and walk away from them!”

Of course, there were probably many other benefits to being nearly invisible, but a man like Matthew--shouldn’t he feel excited about the potential to really be left alone to his own devices? This truly was like a movie, albeit one which Thomas wasn’t sure had a pleasant ending. “...that is, if ya can change back afterwards.” His good mood flickered, and he felt a new tremor of concern for his friend. “Maybe ya can control it with willpower, change back and forth like that cat that went and disappeared on us.”

Matthew tightened his hand into a fist and tried, willed it to become solid once more but nothing happened. “I can’t make myself change back,” he said softly, dropping his hand to his side and casting his gaze around the apartment as if something he owned would provide aid. “It’d be great if I could use this for when I’m feeling introverted,” Matthew offered, trying to join in on the humor of it all to comfort his friend and even himself. “Have you had anything strange like this happen? Changing into a ghost or something?”

Matthew thought of the people on the operating table, the flowers, the singing, the fangs. “Have you turned into anything or sprouted horns or anything? Be honest.” The tremor of his nerves escaped in his words, thrusting Matthew’s quivering fright of what was going on into the limelight for Tom to see. Unable to remain still any longer, Matthew moved and to his surprise couldn’t hear his footfall. He passed through his living room as if he were solid and, realizing this, intentionally pivoted into a chair where he passed through it without resistance.

Thomas shook his head, looking in the direction of his friend’s voice. “Nothing but this beard that I reckon is stronger than a blue ox. I can’t shave it off, no matter how hard I try. Just turned up one morning, all grown in and ready for the day.” He shrugged, knowing it was relatively small beans in comparison to Matthew’s sudden near-invisible and intangible state. “Mayhaps I’ve been eatin’ too many lentils,” Thomas added with a small frown, hand reaching up to scratch lightly at his new facial addition.

“‘Course, I’d let ya know right away about anything else, if anything else happens,” he continued. His head tilted at the list of unusual attributes which Matthew questioned him about--being a ghost was completely out of the question thus far, and sprouting horns would make his mother positively weep. Brows set in a serious line, Thomas spoke again to the empty space in front of him, unaware that Matthew no longer remained in the same position.

“Do ya mean to tell me that someone here has been sproutin’ horns? I’m resistin’ any spectral pulls to the other side, but Matt, this is right up there with those odd critters that appeared. Never saw anything like this in the brochure.”

“No, no,” Matthew said from his different location in the room. He reached out, trying to touch the other lamp switch, and found his fingers only passed through it. “I mean, I don’t know if anyone is sprouting horns but they could be. I’ve just heard a lot of different rumors... rumors of people’s bodies changing and seeming to have powers. I don’t even know… I don’t know what any of this means.”

He reached for the couch arm and his hand passed through and his panic got the best of him as he let out a curse. “I can’t touch anything, but somehow I’m not sinking through the floor. Tom, what do I do?” He looked at his friend with worry clear on his face--if his face happened to be clearly seen.

Following the sound of Matthew’s voice, Thomas turned and tried to speak towards it, though for a few minutes it seemed as if Matthew might have been throwing his voice around the room like a ventriloquist. But Thomas knew Matthew almost as well as he knew himself, and that particular talent wasn’t exactly in his repertoire.

“Those rumors might be tied up in those critters appearin’, seein’ as how ya touched the cat and then disappeared on me,” he said, now truly considering the possibility. It was close enough to adding up the facts as Thomas had gotten, though he still couldn’t--privately--deny the thrill of his best friend being invisible. There was something innately cool about it; pretending to be invisible as a child and sneaking around the house was one thing, but actually being able to turn invisible opened a whole new world of possibilities.

Thomas once again tried to diffuse his excitement, the pitch of Matthew’s voice entering the dangerous, tremorous zone of fear again. “Suppose it doesn’t mean anything, or suppose it really is a message of sorts, something tryin’ to show ya something,” he said carefully. “What if..what if we can find the cat again? If ya touch it, maybe it’ll reverse what happened!” Thomas snapped his fingers, thinking that his idea might actually carry weight. Immediately, he began to inch closer to the couch again, hands out in case Matthew might be sitting upon it. “I’m gonna take another look under here, see if the little bugger isn’t hidin’ out while our backs have been turned.”

“Don’t touch it though,” Matthew quickly said, reaching for his friend instinctively but immediately frowning as his fingertips brushed through Thomas’ shoulder. “I don’t know what we’ll do if you turn invisible too. We need one of us solid.” He moved away as he said this, casting his gaze about the room as he looked for the cat once more. He didn’t hear it, didn’t feel it, and beside he and his friend everything was silent. “I wonder if I can get behind the couch like this. We shouldn’t move it, I don’t want to startle the thing. Let me try.”

He walked to the edge of the living room wall and moved along it, careful not to lean into it with fear that he would suddenly have his head sticking outside of his apartment so, so many floors up. But as he assumed he would, he passed through the end table with ease as well as the back end of the couch. There was just enough room that when he squatted down his face didn’t pass through the back of the couch although a part of him wanted to test it out and see if he could see the innards of the furniture.

The cold brush of what could only be Matthew’s hand startled Thomas, and his eyes widened briefly, still thrilled by it all. He nodded, having already decided that he didn’t exactly want to touch the cat (though part of him was sorely tempted, to see if he would turn invisible, too). “Scout’s honor, I’ll let it be,” Thomas declared, moving around the room quietly as he resumed the search.

Under the coffee table, around the media stand, in the corners of the room...and yet no sign of the cat. Thomas halted in his search when Matthew announced his plan, and he turned to ‘watch’ his friend’s efforts. Even though by now he knew that he couldn’t see Matthew, only the strange, brief glimmers of shadows that denoted the other man’s presence, Thomas nonetheless squinted at the couch.

“Be careful,” he said, inching forward to try and spot any physical evidence of Matthew’s endeavor. But it was as if being invisible had also masked the sounds he would have otherwise made; and Thomas didn’t see the end table move, nor the couch. He gasped, unable to suppress his wonder. “Matthew, are you inside of the couch?”

“Not quite,” Matthew replied, knowing his shoulder was plunged into the back, and his other shoulder through the wall, but he kept his head firmly in the space between the wall and the couch. Crouching, he looked underneath it for any sign of the cat but suddenly was forced forward, the couch emitting a screech as the feet dragged across the wooden floor. Matthew fell to the floor, cursing from the pan of suddenly being squeezed then crashing into the siding of the wall and couch, but it wasn’t until a moment passed that Matthew realized the reason it hurt, the reason he fell and the couch had lunged forward, was because he was suddenly solid.

“Tom!” He yelled, scrambling to his feet and popping up from behind the couch. “You see me right?”

He stood watching the couch, arms crossed, waiting for a sign as to whether or not Matthew had found the cat. Although Thomas was keeping an eye open for any black, furry streak that might dash across the room, he had a funny feeling that for now, the cat had vanished. It likely had accomplished whatever bread thieving its heart desired, and no longer cared to pay attention to the person it had maybe turned invisible.

And then, where otherwise there had been silence, and a lack of distinctive happening, the couch moved--and not entirely of its own accord. (Thomas wasn’t sure if he could get on board with ghost couches, in addition to cats and best friends.) He startled, coming to attention within moments and rushing over to help Matthew, who he could now see again. Eyes blinking in wonder, Thomas hurried to pull the couch out further, so that Matthew could more easily climb out from behind it.

He couldn’t stop staring at him. It was like he’d never seen him before in his life, and yet there he was, familiar as anything. Jaw dropping momentarily, Thomas swallowed and nodded with gusto. “I can’t believe it, Matt, you’re back!” He silenced a whoop of joy, knowing that it was probably not the best option right now. “I can see ya clear as day! Matter of fact, ya might be more solid than before!” Thomas moved away from the opening between the couch and the wall, allowing Matthew to come out from behind it. He peered at his friend, trying to see if anything had noticeably changed about him. “How do ya feel? Can ya see straight? Got feelin’ in all fingers and toes?”

“Got all my fingers,” Matthew replied, wiggling them as he held his hands up. “And it feels like I have my toes. I feel alright too… but maybe, maybe we should just go eat and not touch any cats that show up again.” He rubbed his hands together, happy to feel the solidness of his limbs, and looked at his friend. His face had paled, the experience not as exciting to him as it was to his friend, and he wanted nothing more than to pretend it hadn’t happened. “What do you say?”

Thomas did his best to hide his disappointment, nodding and smiling through what he knew was nothing more than selfishness--something which had been grilled into him as a child as definitely not okay. Unless, of course, it was justified, according to his father. But he certainly didn’t want to be like him, and so Thomas clasped Matthew’s shoulder in a gesture of support.

“I think that sounds like a mighty fine idea, though I suspect our soup has gone cold by now. Host’s choice, but ya oughta be the one that gets to reheats his first.”