Page 76 of Hilarina and the Ogre

Again, the words were deceptively simple. It wasn’t the first time Hilary had thanked him. It wouldn’t be the last. But the words set off a chain inside Trenton, one he didn’t realize was even happening. He smiled, the satisfaction of it going deep enough to relieve an itch he hadn’t known was there. “Anytime.”

His new roommate had to sleep. It was important for him to sleep. But Hilary still convinced him to read three chapters. It would have gone on to four had Trenton not looked up at the end of the page to find the man nodding off. “I’m listening,” Hilary tried to say.

“You can listen in bed.”

But Hilary didn’t want to move. That was what most of the protest was about. When Trenton understood that, he simply scooped the man up as he would with a cat and carried him to the bedroom. It was easier than he thought it would be. Hilary was a grown man, but it wasn’t difficult to distribute the weight. With those arms around his neck and Hilary tucked in close to his chest, he found he could carry him about without much effort at all.

“Am I a baby?” Hilary asked.

It brought that satisfied feeling again, scratching the itch. “Yes.”

“I’m still the breadwinner, you know.”

“Go to sleep, baby breadwinner.”

“Finish the chapter first.”

Hilary had off from work the next day, so they went for a walk in the park. It was cold, but at least the sun was out. Trenton made sure to re-wrap the scarf around his dear stalker’s neck whenever it loosened, something Hilary seemed to cotton onto quickly, turning to present himself for re-wrapping every time the wind blew. They ate out for lunch—something of an event for Trenton as he’d never had food at a restaurant that hadn’t been prepared by his own hands. Well, Hilary said it was only a cafe, not a restaurant. “Is it really your first time?”

“That seems like the kind of thing a stalker ought to know already.”

“Hush, it’s my day off.”

With lunch out of the way, it was time to take on the day’s main task: moving out of his apartment, something Trenton was both excited and nervous about. Excited, because it was yet another notch in the ‘this is happening’ belt that made everything seem more real. And nervous because it was his first time bringing someone ‘home’ with him, even if it wasn’t really his home anymore.

“Do you want something to drink?” He didn’t know what the correct protocol was, but he was sure he was supposed to offer Hilary something.

“I’m good. Where did you want to start?”

The place was tiny, a studio—the only thing he’d been able to comfortably afford on his salary. Technically, he could have swung a one-bedroom, but experience had taught him to live below his means. His spotty memory meant he didn’t always know why his employment record was so turbulent, but he couldn’t seem to keep a job for more than a couple of years, and his employers were never exactly generous in the salary department. It was also why it didn’t make sense to own a lot. He moved often, so he kept what could fit on a wheely cart taken onto the subway. Most of it was kitchen items, but he also had a Japanese-style futon he could roll up, some clothes, and a couple of small electronics. Things like tables and chairs he’d just find on the sidewalk on garbage day and drag back using an old skateboard and some twine.

“Minimalist,” was what Hilary said when they walked in. “My place must feel crowded if this is what you like.”

“Is this your first time here?”

Hilary’s look was incredulous. “Is breaking and entering meant to be another one of my hobbies?”

“You said you were a stalker.”

“Not that kind of stalker.”

“It’s alright if you are.”

The man was losing patience. “Are we taking this stuff, or not?”

Hilary was surprised by some things. Like how quickly everything was packed away and by how few books there were. “I thought there’d be thousands.”

Thousands sounded like a fire hazard. Also a nightmare for Hilary’s dust mite allergy. “I have a Kindle.”

“Aren’t you fancy.”

“And the library. That’s where these are from.” He pointed to the canvas tote perched atop the wheely cart.

But Hilary wasn’t looking at the cart. He was holding the one decoration in the apartment. A small penguin carved from wood, sleeping, with a small pebble on its head. It was Trenton’s favorite thing.

“Cute, isn’t it?”

Hilary’s expression was oddly flat. “Do you remember where you got it?”