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“Huh?”
“The cats on the bulletin board.”
Kipp huffs a laugh. “That was my idea, actually. I figured it’d be a good morale booster. Everyone likes cats, right? So if you’re stuck on some code you can’t figure out or are having a difficult day, you look over, and bam. Cats. Instant mood lift.”
“That’s a good idea,” I tell him, brushing his hair behind his ear.
He shrugs one shoulder. “It’s kinda silly, but it works.”
“I don’t think it’s silly at all, Kipp. I think it’s smart. From what I could tell, you’ve cultivated a really good working environment. Everyone seemed genuinely happy in the brief few minutes we talked.”
“It’s not because of me,” he defends.
“But you’re part of it. Stop selling yourself short.”
He huffs when I give his ear a tiny pinch. “Thanks, Teddy. For…everything.”
“My pleasure,” I say softly.
“I’m dying,” Kipp moans some time later. “That’s what this is. I’m sick with death.”
“I think it might be food poisoning,” I tell him, rubbing his back as he reclines against the outside of the bathtub. We’ve been at this for several hours, alternating between lying on the couch and rushing Kipp to the bathroom so he can empty the contents of his stomach. I don’t think he has any contents left.
“Poisoned,” he croaks. “I didn’t think that’d be the way I’d go, Teddy.”
“You’re not going anywhere. You’ll be just fine.”
After Kipp heaves up the tiniest something into the toilet bowl, he looks over at me. “Teddy? What’s that?”
I check the bowl, glad, not for the first time, for my steel stomach. There are brown flecks amongst the clear liquid from his Gatorade. “That’s dried blood. Okay, up you go.”
Kipp groans as I help him to his feet. “Where are we going?”
“The hospital.”
“Nooo.”
“Yes. Sorry, sweetheart. It’s likely just irritation from throwing up, but I’m not taking any chances.”
Kipp moans as I help him clean up, get dressed in fresh clothes, and head down to the car. But he doesn’t once try to stop me. That, in itself, tells me volumes. He leans his head against the window as I drive, the streetlights and other cars brightening the otherwise dark streets. There’s a bag at his feet we don’t talk about.
When I pull up to the emergency room, Kipp looks over at me. “Niko should get my sex toys.”
“What?” I ask, completely mystified.
“If I die. He gets my sex toys. It’s what bro-friends do.”
“Kipp…”
“And I don’t have a huge savings, but what I do have should go toward something nice. Like charity. Oh, the LGBTQ+ center.”
“You’re not dying,” I assure him, getting out of the car and heading around to his side. He leans his weight on me as I help him out.
“If you haven’t noticed, I tend to joke around when I’m uncomfortable.”
“I’ve noticed,” I say softly.
He nods a little. “I’m just not feeling so good right now.”
