Kareem was asleep when Andy came by. That's why he hadn't seen the journal, hadn't been able to react to Andy's distress. He had always kept weird hours, sleeping when he was sleepy instead of according to the vagaries of the sun and the moon; it was the cat in him, needed independence from everything, even the cycle of days. The only thing Kareem hadn't wanted independence from, in his whole life, was his brothers. He never wanted them to leave him alone, not ever.
He was having a dream, he wasn't sure what about, but suddenly Chester was in it, banging on his drum, without rhythm, slamming, slamming, slamming, making a noise that just couldn't come out of a snare drum and he slowly came to realize that the pounding was an intrusion of the real world into his dream, and with that realization came a move towards awakening. Soon he was lying there awake, momentarily annoyed, until he heard the voice call his name. Andy's voice. And heard the panic in it. His lazy inertia and his annoyance vanished, and he was up and flashing across the apartment at superhuman speed, not bothering to put a stitch on. If Andy was in trouble, he'd rather him see his cock then stay in trouble unaided for a second longer then he had to.
“Andy,” he called, as he ran, “I'm coming.” He was barely finished shouting when he was opening the door. “Get in here,” he said. “Is anyone following you? Did someone chase you?”