staggered out of the bath and stood, dripping wet, on the mat.

That strange honk sounded through the pipes again, along with more thumps and clanks. Just as

quickly as it started, after a few more seconds, the noises stopped. Ryan heaved in a sigh. He grabbed

his towel and started to dry himself off, taking care not to touch his cock, which was still hard, and

bobbing at him eagerly.

“Just forget it,” he told himself. He didn’t have time to feel horny anyway. He had to go and put his

washing on, before someone else beat him to the machine. Then he had to get ready, and tell someone

about that weird noise –

Footsteps echoed along the hall. Ryan froze. Oh God, he thought. Not again. He didn’t dare move.

But it was day time, surely the...the whatever it was only came out at night? He listened, his ears on

stalks as the footsteps came closer. They stopped just outside the door. Ryan’s breath caught in his

throat. There was a gentle rap on the wood.

“Who’s that?” a voice asked.

Ginger. Ryan gasped in relief. It’s only Ginger.

“It’s me, Ryan,” he called back. “I’m just –” His words died on his lips, as he saw the bolt on the

door begin to move. No, he thought. What the hell? Bolts don’t move of their own accord. And yet,

there it was, deftly sliding itself back in the lock.

Ryan was stunned, then flew into a panic as the door swung open. Ginger was on the other side,

looking sleepy and confused. Ryan scrabbled to pull his towel around himself, trying to cover up.

Ginger’s eyes roved over him, growing that little bit wider as he took in Ryan’s state of undress. “Oh,”

he said, blinking several times. “Sorry, Ry. Why...why’d you open the door?”

Ryan was distracted, as Ginger wasn’t exactly dressed either. He was bare chested, tattoos on

display, and only had on his pyjama bottoms, those thin, cotton ones that sat low on his hips. Ryan

tried not to drool openly at the sight of all that exposed skin. Ginger’s tattoo of feathered wings

peeked out from his pyjama bottoms, the design sweeping over jutting hip bones. A dusting of fine,

blonde hair marked a faint line from his belly button to lower abdomen. Ryan’s cock swelled at the

sight. He lowered his eyes and wrapped the towel more securely around himself. “Sorry,” he

mumbled. “I didn’t...I mean, the door just opened. I think it’s bust, or something.”

Ginger shrugged. “Most things are, in this place. Are you done? I need the loo.”

“Oh. Yeah, sorry.” He held onto his towel, willing it not to fall down, and made to step out of the

bathroom. Ginger tried to make room for him in the hall to walk past, but they both went the same

way. They ended up doing a little dance trying to get around each other. Ryan’s eyes were fixed on

Ginger’s chest, on smooth, pale skin, and the pair of silver rings hung through his nipples. The

sensation of feeling completely naked whilst being this close to Ginger messed with his mind. It took

all of Ryan’s will power not to throw the towel off and launch himself forward.

Did Ginger know how desperate he was? Did the man notice him at all?

All Ginger did was smile nervously, and mumble, “Sorry.” He stepped around Ryan, hurrying into

the bathroom. Ryan had the door closed on him. He stood there in the hall, trying not to imagine

Ginger pulling down those pyjama bottoms...

Ryan scrubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head. “Moron,” he whispered to himself, and

started to trudge away. Halfway back to his room, Ryan heard the toilet flush, and that loud honk

shudder along the pipes hidden in the walls.

Christ, it’s even louder out here.

Laughter caught his ear, and Ryan instinctively looked to where he thought it was coming from.

Except he couldn’t quite pinpoint it. That low, dirty chuckle seemed to travel around the walls, along

with that strange honk.

Ryan didn’t hang around. He ran to his room, and slammed the door shut.

* * *

“ – and of course, the intercom was broken,” Matt went on. “And my phone was missing. Still is

missing, actually.”

“Hm,” Ryan replied. He sat at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of tea. Matt glanced at him, then

turned his attention back to the frying pan as he laid a slice of egg soaked bread inside.

“Otherwise, I wouldn’t have used the stupid thing,” Matt explained. “That ancient, crappy dumb

waiter was an accident waiting to happen.”

“Mm.”

“Ryan?”

“Hm?”

Matt glared at him. “Are you even listening?”

Ryan looked up, a faraway expression on his face. “Huh?” he said.

Matt resisted the urge to throw his spatula across the room. With a frown, he turned back to the pan,

and jabbed at the bread instead. “I was saying about the dumb waiter, how dangerous it was.” He

swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. “Because it...it’s my fault.”

Ryan sighed, although quietly. “Matt, don’t be daft. It was an accident. Sammy said so. No one’s

blaming you.”

“Yeah, well,” Matt mumbled, flipping the slice of bread in the pan. It sizzled in reply. Matt knew

what they all wondered. They wondered if he’d done it on purpose, if he’d tried to hurt Sammy. He

had to admit, the thought was a little tempting. Sammy didn’t half tread on his nerves, but the reality

of Sammy being hurt was nothing at all like a passing whim. Matt surprised himself by feeling guilty.

And it was his fault, no matter what anyone else said. If he’d just walked down the damn stairs in the

first place to ask about that order, Sammy wouldn’t have been put in hospital overnight.

Matt glanced at the clock again. Half past ten. He should be prepping his kitchen by now, but

Ginger had gone to collect Sammy in the car, and Matt hovered around, not sure what to do with

himself. When he’d seen Ryan fumble through the kitchen, he’d offered to make him breakfast. Ryan

definitely wasn’t with it today. Maybe he hadn’t slept well, Matt thought. He dished up the slice of

eggy bread onto a plate, and handed it over.

“Thanks,” Ryan said.

Matt turned back to the counter, and dipped another slice of bread into the egg mix. He had to keep

moving, keep doing something. Otherwise he’d go mad. That dazed look on Sammy’s face after the

accident haunted him, burned into his mind. He’d dreamed about those placid, green and blue eyes,

and the bright trickle of blood running down Sammy’s forehead.

Matt was snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of footsteps coming upstairs, and a familiar

voice. That was Ginger, which meant he’d brought Sammy back. Matt tried to stay calm, but his elbow

managed to knock the packet of bread to the floor, and a couple of slices flew out on the sticky

linoleum. Matt stooped to pick them up.

Could have been worse, he thought. At least bread didn’t break. Not like... Shaking the thought

away, he binned the escapees, and swung the bagged loaf back onto the counter top.

Ginger appeared in the doorway, his hand on Sammy’s back. “Look who it is,” Ginger announced.

“Our wounded soldier.”

“Hey, Sammy,” Ryan said. “It’s been far too quiet without you.”

Sammy smiled at him nervously, then his eyes darted over to Matt.

Matt shuffled on the spot, feeling all kinds of terrible. “Do you want some breakfast?” he offered.

“You should eat something,” Ginger agreed. He nudged Sammy into the kitchen. “Go sit. Matt, if

you’re cooking, I’ll go get Fizz. He should eat too.”

Matt nodded, only too pleased to be of use. Ginger disappeared, his footsteps echoing down the

hall. Sammy wandered into the kitchen, eyes drawn to the spitting pan.

“Eggy bread?” Matt asked, not quite brave enough to look Sammy in the eye.