He had never thought he would step into that stairwell again. The last time he’d sworn—solemnly—that he never would. And yet here he was, briskly climbing the stairs just to talk to that creepy man. The warm, heavy air made Noud’s face twist into a grimace, and the tension didn’t ease even when he finally reached the door.
This time, Timothy wasn’t waiting for him with open arms. In fact, he wasn’t waiting at all. Noud placed his hands on his hips, rolling his eyes—so typical. The red-haired, fleshy man he despised so much couldn’t even bother to open the door. But as soon as he knocked, the handle turned. He didn’t care if Timothy had seen his grimace through the peephole. If the man wanted to amuse himself, fine—let him enjoy the expression of pure disdain on Noud’s face.
“Your message was so mysterious, darling…” Timothy purred.
Noud shivered.
“I know. I’m sorry, but I had to come in secret.”
The man’s eyes lit up, his plump face stretching into a wide smile.
“Don’t tell me this is about some surprise birthday party? The big four-oh?”
The blood drained from Noud’s face. Great. He had completely forgotten about that damned birthday. The groan that rose in his throat was disguised as a cough. Though Timothy’s words had startled him at first, they had also handed him a lifeline. After all, he had stepped over Bernard’s friend’s threshold without any plan, not even knowing what excuse he could come up with to extract information about his own partner — especially from someone as vain and self-satisfied as Timothy. But Bernard’s fortieth birthday? That was a perfect opportunity. He had to find out what Bernard was hiding, where he disappeared to at night. Even if it meant inviting Timothy. If necessary, he’d personally make sure the man was taken care of throughout the entire party.
While the host fussed around the bar, Noud sat down on the terrace. He inhaled deeply—the salty, slightly humid air filling his lungs—and closed his eyes. Weeks of constant uncertainty and anxiety had shredded his nerves, and last night’s events had been the final straw. When Bernard appeared at Carlos’s house after that chilling, death-rattle-like scream, all he was willing to say was, Ted fell down the stairs. Nothing more could be coaxed out of him. Noud didn’t have to think long about whom to turn to for help—even if the very thought of Timothy made his stomach turn.
“So, tell me, darling,” Timothy grinned, holding two cocktail glasses. “What have you planned for that stallion of yours?”
Noud’s stomach twisted in disgust as the word stallion oozed out of Timothy’s thick lips. He didn’t even want to imagine why he called Bernard that. He brushed his palm along his arm, as if he could wipe away the goosebumps rising on his skin. He took one of the glasses, nodded shyly, and raised it toward Timothy in silence. Only after the first sip—when the spicy gin burned yet soothingly slid down his throat—did he speak.
“What if the surprise party were at Ted’s house? That would really throw him off.”
Timothy’s face stretched in disbelief.
“W–wait… We’re talking about that Ted?” he stammered.
Noud’s eyes widened in feigned surprise.
“You didn’t know?”
“I…” Timothy’s voice faltered.
Confusion and outrage flickered across his face at dizzying speed.
“Since they’ve been inseparable lately,” Noud went on, his tone cool and detached while he relished watching Timothy squirm, “I thought I might as well involve Ted in the party.”