Dorian managed to be patient for almost two whole weeks. He didn't seek out Milot intentionally, didn't really even care how he was doing, or so he told himself. He visited the town twice during that period of time. Once in the grocery store and the second time, at the hardware store where he learned that Milot had indeed come around and bought all sorts of tools, equipment, screws, and other things. He didn't even need to persuade the store owner to tell him because he was such a blabbermouth, to begin with. What made him talk about the newcomer was the fact that his own teenage daughter was immediately in love with the young man. When Dorian chuckled and mentioned his hideous beard and his messy outer appearance, the owner shook his head and said that there was nothing untidy or indecent about him. He was polite and friendly, had good jokes, and a very good sense of humor. His daughter added the words "killer smile and sexy bedroom eyes".
By the end of the second week, his curiosity got the better of him, and went to the town the third time. He walked past the two-story commercial building like he was just an average person on a daily stroll. As he passed the large windows, he couldn't help but slow down. His head turned and his pace slowed even more until he came to a complete stop.
Like a bewitched person, he simply stared.
The studio wasn't as empty anymore as it used to. There were big, complicated-looking machines inside and the wooden floor had experienced a complete transformation. There were three white pedestals in front of the large windows and each of them held an enormous, beautifully colored lamp made out of glass that looked as smooth as water. The lights weren't turned on but the early afternoon sunshine made the colors shine and glow and sparkle. They could easily attract the attention of any passerby, just like they captivated him just now.
"Pretty, aren't they?" a small voice said next to his feet.
Dorian's heart jumped and he took a hasty step to his left while at the same time trying to locate the source of that weird, animalistic voice. Then he noticed the grey cat that sat on the pavement next to him and stared at him with its yellow eyes.
"That's the second time you almost shat your pants when you heard me talking," Pawie giggled.
Dorian refused to answer. He glanced around to see how many strangers looked at him and saw him conversing with a cat, like a person on the run from the insane asylum. And while he was thinking of what exactly he could say, Pawie got bored and slipped in through the pet door that Milot had installed for it. When Dorian didn't move, Pawie peeked its head through the flap again.
"Well, are you coming or not? I know you want to!" it asked and just to stop it from saying anything more, he reluctantly opened the door and followed the grey cat indoors.
The heat was the first thing that him. It was like stepping into a tropical jungle wearing your winter coat, a scarf around your neck, and thick, woolly mittens. He immediately began to sweat and opened the zipper on his jacket. The second thing he noticed was the noise. He had expected the place to be a quiet, serene kind of environment but it seemed that some of the equipment kept constant noise. A hum, a rumble, deep growling like somewhere down beneath them a giant beast was sleeping and snoring. Pawie jumped onto the counter, licked its paws, and observed the visitor. Dorian hadn't changed that much, maybe he looked even more serious than before but other than that, the man was ageless.
"Milot's upstairs," Pawie said. "With Esmeralda. They've been there for hours. You'd think she'd be happy with a little attention, but for some reason, she was extra mad today and when she's mad, it takes a long time to soothe her."
"I didn't come to see him," Dorian replied. "I came to see you because he told me you missed me."
Pawie's cat brain tried its best to comprehend Dorian's words. It curled its tail cutely around its legs, cocked its head to the left, and looked at the man standing in front of it. It couldn't think of a single time when it told Milot that it was the one who missed Dorian. Then it wondered had it said something like that to Esmeralda or talked in its sleep but no such memories emerged. Dorian couldn't help but smile when he saw how the cat began to consider its thoughts. He lifted his hand and caressed its soft head and when the fingers slipped behind its ears, Pawie was more than ready to admit that it had, in fact, missed him, dearly.
"Where you always a cat?" Dorian asked. Pawie moved its head so that his fingers moved under its chin and it almost completely missed the question because of the sudden feeling of euphoria.
"No," Pawie purred. "I used to have wings."
"A bird then?" Dorian raised his eyebrows. "What, a magpie?"
"No," Pawie shook its head. "I was a pterodactyl. One of those flying lizards from the age of dinosaurs. With the wingspan of twenty meters."
"Right," Dorian nodded. "I'm not even going to ask how you know anything about dinosaurs."
"He was a crow if you really want to know," Milot's voice floated downstairs and soon enough he emerged from the staircase. He was dressed in old jeans and a grey T-shirt and surprisingly his face was clean and shaven. He stopped at the other side of the counter and looked straight at Dorian while his hand caressed Pawie's fur and their fingers lightly brushed at each other. Dorian swallowed and tried to ignore that light touch but eventually, he pulled his hand away. It was too confusing and that feeling of guilt once again returned.
"Oh yeah?" Pawie looked at him. "A graveyard bird? Awesome."
"You know, crows are incredibly smart and intelligent birds," Milot said and Pawie didn't look so unsatisfied anymore. "But you have always been smarter than any primate before or after, so don't worry, Pawie."
"How's your girlfriend?" Dorian asked and tried to steer the conversation to something lighter. As if asking about Milot's girlfriend was relevant in any way.
"Who?" Milot still petted Pawie and the cat practically grinned.
"What was her name? Esmeralda? Pawie mentioned you've been soothing her for hours," Dorian smiled. "Sound like a complicated woman."
"Oh, her," Milot nodded. "She is. Very demanding. Hard to please. If she was any bigger she might just kill me altogether. For nutrition, you know. Most of the time I'm able to outsmart her. I have a brain, she doesn't."
"That's gross," Pawie declared. "And how dare you insult her like that! She's a dainty lady who craves attention!"
"Attention? As if I don't try my best and give it," Milot said but his eyes were fixed on Dorian. "But the one I'm trying to win over rejects me over and over again. Any advice, Pawie?"
"I've had enough of your awkward flirting," Pawie said. "I don't need to see any more of it. I'm going upstairs to sleep. Don't wake me if the building is not on fire. And...keep the noise down if you make it to the bedroom."
The cat jumped off the counter and tiptoed upstairs. It kicked the door closed behind it and after a loud bang, a thick silence fell between the two men. The hum of the furnace was the only thing that echoed through the room.
"I see you are settling in," Dorian finally opened his mouth. He resisted the urge to leave because suddenly this hot, humid place felt incredibly suffocating and Milot's presence bothered him even more than he anticipated.
"Things are going as planned," Milot agreed, moved from behind the counter and with every step he took, Dorian took one further away. When he almost knocked one of the pedestals over Milot decided to keep his distance. Just to keep his lamps safe. They were his main source of income and in order to stay around and pay his bills and his rent, he needed that money.
"You...are happy with your girlfriend then?" Dorian cleared his throat. He didn't understand why he was suddenly so intrigued and bothered by the fact that Milot might have someone in his life. Of course, it was perfectly normal but for some stupid reason, he had assumed that Milot wasn't interested in women.
"Very," Milot chuckled. "She hates me because I keep her locked up and only feed her with roaches but that's understandable. Maybe I can find her some fresh insects during the summer. That usually makes her a bit happier."
"What?" Dorian asked and was now thoroughly confused. "Roaches? Are there roaches here? Do you want me to contact the fumigator?"
"No...and she's a..." Milot was about to reveal the true identity of his "girlfriend" but then remembered why Esmeralda was part of his family, to begin with. Precisely to give Dorian a heart attack and drive him away for an eternity. "She's not human," Milot finally said. "A bug, basically."
A gross oversimplification!
"A bug?" Dorian frowned. "Does she talk as well? What was she before, if Pawie was a bird? A lizard? One of those talking dung beetles from a Pixar movie?"
"She doesn't talk and she's always been a...bug," Milot explained. "Pawie just liked to exaggerate things."
"Right," Dorian nodded and then looked straight at Milo. "So, when he said to keep the noise down if we make it to the bedroom, was that an exaggeration as well?"
"I have a noisy air mattress up there, it squeaks and squeals like you wouldn't believe," Milot said innocently. "Especially when it moves against the floor like it sometimes does. Haven't had a chance to buy a proper bed yet. Is there a furniture shop somewhere around the area? Maybe we can go and look for a bed together. So I know it suits your tastes."
"W...why would it need to suit my tastes?" Dorian stuttered and he was suddenly in a hurry to get out. He told himself it was just the heat from the furnace that formed beads of sweat on his forehead and made them glide down his back.
"Because you are wealthy and I know you have a good taste with furniture," Milot said. "You can give me recommendations. Wouldn't want to sleep on anything but the best. My back gets really sore sometimes and because my work is very physical, ergonomics is important. If my back isn't working, lifting heavy things becomes difficult."
Milot was enjoying this a bit too much. He could barely hold his laughter when he noticed the confused, helpless look on Dorian's face. He remembered teasing Dorian like this before and even then he had acted like a coy, shy teenager. The only difference was that now he could have actually touched him if he wanted to. And oh, he wanted to. He wanted to see was his hair silky under his fingers. He wanted to know was he able to feel his muscles move under his skin and were his lips really as soft as they seemed to be. He had never had the chance to touch Dorian before, they had only spoken, exchanged thoughts and ideas. But slowly those talks had changed into something else. They still spoke, but more with their eyes than with their mouths. Milot knew that if he touched Dorian now before he remembered and was ready, it would probably only scare and anger him. So he kept his hands to himself and stuffed them deep into his jeans pockets.
Remembering those lighthearted moments brought back the sad truth that he needed to return Dorian's memories. At some point, he told himself. I will give them back to him, at some point.
He knew he was selfish and greedy when he kept the truth from him, but having been away for so many centuries, spending time with him now was like drinking a glass of fresh water.
And when you are dying of thirst on a hot summer's day, nothing tastes better than a glass of cold, rejuvenating spring water.