"There's a hunk on our couch."

Me and Dan stood in our kitchen the next morning, Dan in a different pair of sweats since I had borrowed from him to dress Tony, and me in my nightgown, after my boxer shorts and white top got ruined. Dan was chewing on some dry cereal flakes straight from the box while he looked into our living room, staring at Tony who was sleeping soundly on our sofa.

"I'm aware of that." I half-whispered back, folding my arms over my chest.

Dan stopped mid-chew and paused for a moment. "Is he single?" Of course that was his first question.

But I actually didn't have a clue. I guess it was foolish to assume homeless people couldn't find love as well, but Tony just didn't seem like the 'dating' type. "I don't know, but I'm pretty sure he's straight." Actually, I wasn't even sure about that.

"That's not what I asked."

I slowly glared up at Dan with a flat look.

He smirked back at me. "What? I can turn anything gay with this." He replied and made a motion down his body.

I rolled my eyes. Typical Dan. "What would Kyle say to you crushing on the homeless guy on our couch?"

"He would probably be jealous, but then we'd just have hot jealousy sex."

I shook my head and sighed. I then watched Tony shift on the couch, rolling over onto his side. He was still sleeping heavily, but his brows creased. The snores coming from him were steady, but his eyes were jerking behind his closed lids. Dreaming.

Or perhaps having a nightmare.

"So this is him?" Dan quietly asked.

I nodded. I hadn't told him about what had happened last night, because honestly... I wasn't quite sure what had happened myself yet.

After I put Tony to rest on the couch, I'd cleaned up all the traces of blood on the floor and scrubbed the tub completely clean, too. After that, I'd laid back in my own bed and continued to toss and turn while I tried to understand the night. Tony was a man of few words, but I was hoping I could get him to talk more today.

If not play.

"You should go take a shower, you're gonna be late to pick up Kyle at the airport," I finally whispered to Dan after a few more moments of us shamelessly staring at Tony sleeping.

"Alright," He replied and popped a final handful of cereal into his mouth before setting the box down and chewing. "But Mel? Be careful," He warned and made me look up at him. "We know nothing about him. He could be dangerous. Just because he saved you doesn't mean he's automatically a born hero."

"I know." Truthfully I did. I was just hoping I'd learn a little more about him today... or maybe just find out what happened last night. It was one of those things that would definitely haunt me for the rest of my life if I didn't find out what I had participated in. Cleaning up blood...

"Keep the pepper spray I gave you close to you, yeah?" Dan whispered, warranting me a look. "Promise me?"

"I promise to be careful, now go shower," I ordered and gave him a firm nod. Always so damn protective of me. Good guy.

Dan left for the shower with a final look at me, but then shut the bathroom door. A minute later I heard the shower turn on, and I then exhaled.

Today was going to be interesting. 

~~~

Dan left to pick up Kyle almost 45 minutes later. Even as he walked out the door while making me promise to call him if Tony even as much as farted my way, Tony didn't wake up. He was still fast asleep by the time I risked a shower as well and dressed for the day in my usual jeans and plain T-shirt. I threw on a knitted cardigan when the cold weather outside made my skin prickle and had me shivering ever so slightly.

Or maybe it was the man sleeping on my couch.

I then went to check on Tony's clothes on the drying rack. Thankfully, Dan being the angel that he was, had insisted on only buying an apartment with our own washing machine built in, so that meant the machine had been running over the night. At the crack of dawn, I had gotten up to let his clothes dry (I hadn't been able to sleep), and now with the time being almost midday, it was almost dry. Most of the bloodstains were gone, but not the big ones. Blood was such a hard stain to get out, after all...

It wasn't until 1 pm when I was toasting some bread and scrambling some eggs in the kitchen that I suddenly felt a presence behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I found Tony standing behind me, awake at last and looking at the frying pan.

"Good morning," I started, already feeling my gut clench at him being so close again. That aura... "I'm making some food if you're hungry?"

Looking at the cooking eggs, he gave a vague nod, then turned and walked three feet to my right, leaning himself up against the counter. "Thank you."

I didn't know why those words always made my gut feel so tight. They were so common, but when he spoke them...

Living on the street might have been what did that. The words became deeper and much more appreciative, maybe because he didn't take the simple notion of food for granted as most of us did. We ate half a frozen lasagna and then deemed, since it was already fast food and frozen prier to eating it, that it now might as well be thrown out.

And here he was, sounding so appreciative by scrambled eggs and a bit of toast.

It really made you think; he did.

Letting the eggs cook finished, I dished them onto two plates, splitting them equally between him and me. The toast sprung out of the toaster and steamed from the machine, just as I was soaping the frying pan.

"Could you get those?" I asked and looked at Tony.

Moving off the counter, he walked to the toaster and easily picked the two hot slices from the pockets and carried them to the plates. He laid one on each and then leaned back against his spot by the counter again.

He was more relaxed than me.

Finishing up with the frying pan, I dried my hands and then walked to the fridge. As I opened it and stared inside it, I tried to take a subtle deep breath to calm myself. "Would you like ketchup with your eggs?"

"Either is fine."

Yes, he was definitely more relaxed than me.

Fishing the ketchup bottle out from the door, I closed the fridge again and then walked up to the counter, quickly fishing out two forks from the drawer, before expertly grabbing both plates while tugging the ketchup under my arm. I then walked to the living room where he had slept, feeling Tony follow my trail.

I set the plates and the ketchup down on the coffee table, and then like the first night he got here, took seat in the armchair while he sat down on the couch.

"Dig in," I offered, grabbing my fork to dish some of the scrambled eggs onto my toast. I saw Tony follow my lead, taking his fork as well and stabbing into the eggs. He took his mouthful with a small sigh.

We ate in silence. At one point Tony grabbed the ketchup bottle and squeezed out an amount onto his eggs before eating again, biting into his toast. Small bits of bread stuck to his beard, but he didn't care and neither did I. He was hungry, but was trying to eat properly. Why, I didn't know. Maybe he was trying to make up for yesterday... the blood...

Blood... halfway through my eggs, I suddenly felt my appetite falter. I didn't know what had happened last night, but Tony didn't seem to have trouble eating. At least not until he noticed me pushing my food around on my plate rather than eating it. He slowed down on his chewing, then put down what was left of his toast.

"You need to know, don't you?" He asked, his voice now guarded like I knew it best. He knew I needed to know, not wanted.

"Please," I said and swallowed dryly. "I just have to know... whose... whose blood was that?"

Tony looked away and leaned back into the couch, working something around in his mouth. Words or leftover food? "It's not what you think." He finally said.

"What am I thinking?" I asked him. You witnessed a murder... someone got killed... you were there... why?

"Nobody died." He got out, averting his eyes again, staring down at his hands as they braided themselves together. Something about his voice bothered me.

"Where were you?" I therefore asked.

He kept staring at the floor, but then closed his eyes. "Wrong place, wrong time."

That was all I got. That was all I'd probably ever get.

For some reason, he couldn't tell me the whole thing, but after a moment of thought, I realized maybe it was for the best. If the police somehow came asking, I wouldn't know. What was that saying? The less you know... Tony would be the puppeteer, and I'd be the mute puppet.

And he'd be long gone by the time real questions got asked.

"Why did you come to me?" I whispered. The tense silence was too much, too nerve wracking. I had to break it.

Tony stayed still for a long moment, until finally, he sighed and shook his head. "I don't know."

I believed him. I didn't know why, but it was the same answer as to why I couldn't stop obsessing about him. Some things just couldn't be explained. "How did you know where I lived?"

"The food you gave me. There was an old receipt in the bag."

"Oh." He had to have found me from that. It was clever. For some reason it didn't surprise me.

None of us spoke for a while again. Tony seemed more talkative today than he had any other day I'd tried speaking to him, but there was a limit. That was another mystery in itself... why did he answer my questions? Kindness? Or, maybe he just knew I wouldn't quit after last night. Not before I had answers. So he gave them to me. Even if they were halved.

I sighed and finally stood up when I realized the conversation had run its course. Grabbing my almost empty plate, I looked at his. "You finished?"

He grabbed the last of his toast and chewed that down before rising as well, picking up his own plate. "Thank you."

Nodding once, I took the dish from him and walked into the kitchen, feeling him linger in the living room. I didn't look back, simply begun cleaning the dishes, feeling my heart beat in my chest.

So what now? Were we on friendly terms? Could I speak with him without fearing he'd run off, or was he simply keeping up a charade as a thank you for me helping him wash off last night?

What had that been about anyway? Sure, anyone getting drenched in blood would be eager to get a wash, but... I didn't know why, but something about how he had acted last night had been different. He had been panicking... almost... scared...

PTSD, my inner voice whispered. It was in truth Dan's accusations tossed at me that rung in my head, but this time, it seemed fitting. If he was an army veteran, he could be suffering from PTSD and blood could be a trigger... it was the only way I could rationalize it and I feared I wasn't wrong. If—

A smooth tone hit my ear and had me dropping the wet plate I was holding into the sink. My whole body then froze up as I heard the next note play, the enchanting shrieks of his gift hypnotizing me at once.

Sadness. Deep, deep sadness vowed itself into my skin as the loud violin played from the living room and had me fishing my hands out of the soapy water to walk towards the sound like I was truly spellbound. Stopping up in the doorframe, I found him standing behind the couch, violin pressed to his chin and shoulder, and his right hand wielding the bow against it.

He was playing again. Feeling. This time not anger, but heartache. Desperation. Even fear.

Like the first time, a thousand of difference emotions had my body whirling around like a typhoon.

And right in the center of the storm, was Tony.

Controlling the current of the storm, the intensity, the places it hit, he navigated its course. Diligently and yet slowly gliding the bow over the strings, his eyes remained closed in that world he went to where all that remained was this; The shrieks of his torment; The cries of his pain; The invisible tears of his anguish.

I was a mere bystander. Like a guest in a zoo, getting to hear some rare bird sing it's special song. It was strange, really. If he wanted to, he could've used this violin on the street and earned hundreds as a street performer. He might even make a whole grand in one day with his skills.

But as I stood and watched—heard—him pour his everything into this fucked up world, I knew he'd never ever bring this talent of his to the street. He'd never patronize whatever he did by claiming money for it; his emotions, his feelings. If there was such a thing as musical prostitution, that would be it. He'd rather starve and freeze on the street than beg for money for what he could feel.

No, his gift was for private display only. He played in solitude and didn't want people honing in on his personal feelings.

So why was he playing right now, with me here, knowing I could hear everything?

Millions of new questions swirled around in my head as I watched him slowly tune the music into a fragile finish. The notes died out and so did my silence. Like a volcano having tried not to burst, I felt the words pour from my mouth like hot lava.

"How do you... do that?" I got out, watching in complete amazement as he lowered the violin and looked at it.

Tony was quiet for a long moment, simply just staring at the violin. And then, just like when we were standing back in the alley, his eyes looked away and fell to the floor.

"I don't know."

• • •

Memory is frail.
But love lingers.