Page 43 of Topped

Milo

As late autumn closed in around us, Rupert and I settled into something of a routine. Neither of us had talked about it, not formally anyway, but I wasn’t sure that mattered if neither of us opposed what we’d fallen into.

A couple of times a week I’d walk across to Saltgate and take him over to Novel Tea for lunch, the two of us always occupying the same table in the back corner, talking in low voices as the November rain hammered against the window.

Rupert had come to my flat for dinner three times, always on nights I knew Darcy was having dinner with Owen and his dad so I didn’t have to risk him knocking on the door or pestering me about it the next morning.

It wasn’t that I was embarrassed about being seen with Rupert—I actually had the weird urge to show him off to everyone and climb to the top of St. Michael’s steeple to shout to the whole of Heather Bay about how awesome he was—but I couldn’t be asked to deal with Darcy’s nosiness, and there was a nagging worry in my chest he’d corner Rupert and ask too many pointed questions.

I knew it was kind of hypocritical of me, given how much I’d involved myself in my friends’ love lives without their permission, but since Rupert and I had spent the summer conducting some kind of siege warfare against each other, I wanted him to myself while we figured out whatever this was.

Mostly, I went over to his flat because it was spacious, private, and had the added bonus of being the home of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

I’d fallen head over heels for her, and I now spent half my time watching videos about snakes and snake husbandry, and reading Reddit threads about ball pythons. Half my camera reel was pictures and videos of her, and Rupert had even joked I’d only become friends with him to get to her.

I’d teasingly asked if he was jealous or feeling left out, and when he’d flushed while breathlessly denying it, I’d spent the rest of the evening taking him apart to show him exactly where he landed in my list of priorities. Afterwards, I’d pulled him against my chest and run my fingers through his hair, counting the moles on his shoulders and the freckles on his nose and idly dreaming about futures that were never going to happen.

Most nights I ended up staying over, either because we’d fucked or because we’d fallen asleep on the sofa watching one of Rupert’s documentaries or old movies. We were slowly working our way through a list of films we’d put together one lunchtime, throwing ideas at each other while we looked at suggested lists of classic films and obscure gems. I’d never watched a lot of crime noir, and some of the ones we’d found were truly bonkers, but I was having fun and I enjoyed talking them through with Rupert afterwards.

Plus I now thought I’d look amazing in a trilby.

“Milo. Milo!” Rupert’s frantic, hissed words stirred me from my doze. I was still in his bed, my head buried in the mountain of pillows and the duvet pulled up to my chin. Technically, I was supposed to be getting up so I could head back to mine while he went to work, but Rupert’s bed was so fucking comfy that I wanted to stay here for as long as possible.

“Hmm, I’m awake,” I said, half-opening my eyes and squinting in the lamplight. Rupert was fully dressed and staring at me with panic-stricken horror, moving away from the bed to start opening drawers and throwing things on the floor as soon as I opened my eyes. The vague sensation that something wasn’t right bubbled up in my chest, but I wasn’t awake enough for worry to really register. “What’s wrong?”

“Lizzie’s missing,” Rupert said, his voice trembling as he chucked more clothes onto the floor, peering into the back of the drawers.

I sat bolt upright in bed. “What?”

“She’s not in her terrarium. I went in there to say good morning and I couldn’t see her, so I assumed she was in one of the hides. But then… I noticed one of the plants had slipped out of the hole in the back that it’s fed through so there’s a gap. I opened the terrarium up just to check, but she’s not anywhere inside it! And now…” He tried to exhale slowly but it came out shaking and distressed. He flicked his hands several times, like he was trying to process a burst of nervous energy, and then cracked his knuckles. “This is all my fault! I should have checked better last night. And now I have no idea where she is. What if she gets stuck? What if she hurts herself? She’s not… she’s…”

“It’s okay, we’ll find her. She can’t have gotten far. She’s probably found a nice, cosy spot to curl up in and snooze,” I said, throwing the duvet off and leaping out of bed, grabbing my T-shirt from last night off the chest. I knew what he meant, even if he didn’t want to say it. Lizzie, sweet as she was, wasn’t particularly smart. Ball pythons were the snake equivalent of orange cats, and sometimes we fondly joked her three brain cells played ping pong with themselves. There was a real chance she’d get stuck somewhere she shouldn’t because she had no sense of self-preservation.

Thank fuck all the windows in the flat were closed because it had gotten colder at night.

Rupert nodded. “I know. But I checked her favourite spots already and she’s not in any of them!”

“Okay, deep breath.” I gently grasped his arm and pulled him against me, squeezing him tightly and hoping it would help his body to start regulating itself. I had no idea what worked for him when he was stressed so all I could do was start with what worked for me and go from there.

He resisted for a second, tension radiating out of him and making him stiff in my arms. Then he let out a long breath and buried his head in my neck, slowly relaxing against me as his fingers clutched at the back of my T-shirt.

“Let’s go room by room,” I said. “We’ll take it slowly and carefully. It might take a while, but we’ll find her. She can’t have gotten far.”

“Okay, yeah, we can do that.”

“I know it’s stressful, so if you need a break or to, I don’t know, dance around to get the energy out, then do it.”

“It feels like I’ve drunk three cups of coffee back-to-back. I’m practically vibrating and it’s awful! I’m so wound up and I don’t know how to process it.”

I nodded. I knew exactly the feeling he was describing, and it was always deeply unpleasant. “Normally I’d suggest exercise—that’s what works for me anyway—but now doesn’t seem like the time to dig out one of my videos or go for a run.”

Rupert tilted his head back and raised an eyebrow, a tiny grin on his lips. Good. I was glad he was able to smile. “Do I look like someone who does a lot of exercise?”

“That is an impossible question, sweetheart. There is no way to tell.”

“Well then, the only exercise I’ve gotten recently is walking to and from work and sex.”

“You know both of those count? And they’re very good for you.”