Zachary hadn't realized it was his birthday until his sister had called him in a frenzy that morning on a video call. She'd apologized profusely, saying how much she hated she was still out of town on this important day that he turned thirty.
Thirty.
Zachary zoned his sister out for most of the call, continuously repeating that word back to himself. It didn't feel real. He didn't feel like he was thirty.
Somehow, that was too adult. Too old to be in his predicament of living with his younger sister so that the government wouldn't withdraw his disability benefits. Too old to not have had any proper job for more than a few months at a time, and definitely too old to not have any romantic or interpersonal affairs.
Zachary did not feel like he was thirty.
Not one bit.
After the call, he had spent most of his days reading or taking care of the cats. He had about four that consistently stayed in the house and eight or so more that came in occasionally and would disappear for weeks at a time. He hadn't gotten any of these cats himself. They were strays that had wandered into the property and had taken a liking to him because he would give them cat food and the occasional fish and beef scraps. Zachary loved them because most of the time they were his only company. His elder sister had a long-distance relationship, and after getting work remotely she often spent weeks at a time at a boyfriend's place in Montana.
It was lonely, but Zachary mostly shrugged it off, it wasn't like most of his life had been any different. He'd grown up being flat-out ignored or bullied. His chronic pain gave him a lot of anxiety about physical activity and interacting with other children. Even now that he was much older and diagnosed and he was content in knowing that he had not imagined his pain, there was still a little part of him that felt less than for not walking when he could, going out by himself for long hours or even being on disability financial aid in the first place.
There was something about chorionic pain that made him feel constantly gaslighted. His diagnosis list was long and growing longer, and his pain wasn't a visible physical ailment that was obvious and indisputable. His mum had constantly hounded him as a child for always 'feeling sick', 'feeling tired', and 'feeling pain.' And that vocabulary had been glued down at the back of his mind. He found himself always second-guessing his own pain. Wondering if it was him just overreacting, and simply 'feeling' too much and not simply being in pain.
His illness made him 'bothersome', and the fact that it wasn't written on his face like an accident wound or an amputation made pity for him scarce. He avoided getting out of his wheelchair in public for fear that someone would heckle him for faking. He'd seen multiple compilations on YouTube of such incidents. He was also aware that some people made it their full-time hobby to attack and discredit people with non-visible disabilities on the internet, so he avoided an internet presence, hence maybe the one space he would have felt comfortable connecting with other people.
The man sighed, getting from the bar stool by the island counter before heading to the pantry to get some cat food. He filled two bowls and slowly made his way toward the basement, taking slow gentle steps. He'd had episodes of sharp joint pain that had him rolling down the stairs, and honestly, he couldn't risk that situation again.
When he got down, he dropped the bowls at the base of the stairs before turning on the light, and just with that, three cats crawled from corners behind the washing machine or under the unused mattress to eat. As they ate Zachary took a seat on the stairs, letting his fingers touch their fur as he stared down at them. This was one of the more consistent parts of his day that he looked forward to. The rest of his typical days were filled with taking medication, warming up grocery store frozen meals, and reading or watching shows.
Watching television was one of the few ways Zachary got to experience anything. He hadn't traveled in years—unless counting his hospitalization when he was twenty-three in a different state. Heck, he barely left his house, and the most adventurous he was on a monthly basis was stocking up on groceries at the Costco store an hour away.
He didn't have a social life.
Even when he'd been younger and a child.
Zachary had gone to school for quite a bit, up until the third and early fourth grade, and then he was hospitalized for the first time and missed the rest of the year. After a lot of back and forth with do it's and caretakers it was concluded he would simply be homeschooled. He'd applied for community college and had been accepted and found attending in person difficult despite all the accommodations, so eventually, he finished his degree online, not making much of the college years he had sworn would be a turnaround.
He'd tried to work, and it had been the same issue. He'd missed a lot of his days and eventually just decided to file for disability support and make whatever money on the side he could—though disability privileges were given within very strict conditions that meant you could never earn over a certain amount, save over a certain amount, or own property over a certain amount.
Case in point 'renting' a room in his sister's place. The place was essentially his since she was almost never there now, but it was still a constraint that bothered him. It left like the law was punishing him for daring to want aid and keeping him dependent and poor to justify it.
Zachary stood up, heading up the stairs after getting bored with petting the cats. He had a special disdain for how welfare was handled, but he couldn't do anything about it, so he let his thoughts wander in another direction.
Leroy, was it?
It was a bit disappointing that Zachary hadn't seen the younger man since then. He wasn't sure if he came off too strong or said something off. The man had spoken to him first—he had looked at him with a smile, so Zachary had thought it was okay to talk back, offer something he thought was nice and would be of interest, but something must have been off because he hadn't seen him in the past two or three weeks.
Zachary felt his face warm up as he thought about the stranger. He took a seat in his wheelchair, letting his mind wander back to the small yet substantial interaction. Leroy had the best eyebrows he'd ever seen on a human being—very expressive, and they complimented his looped grain.
Zachary felt his throat clog up as he wondered if maybe the man could tell—tell that he was looking at him like that, and that's why he never came back. Despite everything, Zachary was still like most people. He had desires of his own. He wanted to date, even if he'd never done anything before, although he thought about it occasionally. Leroy was handsome—in that cute, small-framed way. Regardless of whether the man had hopped over into the garden to pet the cats, it wasn't like Zachary would attempt to do anything. He'd get rejected. Well, he'd never gotten rejected before because he'd never asked, but he'd never asked because he was sure he'd be rejected.
For one thing, he wasn't even sure how a relationship would work. Why would someone want to date him? A person who had to be under so many economic restraints by the government. Many disabled people lost their aid when they got into relationships because living with their partners drastically increased household income. Essentially, the government was making the non-disabled partner solely responsible for the disabled one, which was a lot of pressure, even for someone who loved you.
Besides, there weren't many occasions where Zachary was interactive enough to find someone attractive. The odd celebrity and online friend crush here and there pretty much summed up his romantic experience.
Ah, a virgin at thirty.
He'd forgotten to put that on the list of things that didn't make him feel like he was thirty.
Zachary rolled his chair out into the sunroom, and he wondered what he could listen to today. He'd become very hyper-fixated on movies and books about alien life. He fiddled with his phone, scrolling through his library of books as he hummed an RnB song under his breath. He listened to a lot of audiobooks because sometimes reading gave him headaches. It often felt like something at the back of his eyes was throbbing and threatening to burst out. He had migraines—lots of them, for everything as mundane as wearing a pair of glasses and having them press against the side of his face or braiding his hair back so it was out of the way.
It was annoying.
That was really the only way Zachary could describe such a situation. Where he had to tiptoe around his constraints so that he could enjoy basic things everyone else did.
Zachary looked up from his phone to stare out the window. He frowned at first and then blinked, noticing the man from before jumping over the picket fence. The man paced a bit in the unruly grass for a bit with his hands on his hips and lip between his teeth.
Cute. Zachary thought, feeling his chest flutter. He watched the short man walk up the lawn, stopping at the base of the house's foundation before squatting. It seemed a cat was probably hiding between the porch stairs. Zachary lost sight of him after that, and he contemplated going outside. Just to look, that is. He wasn't sure if he was even going to be able to say anything with his heart stuck in his throat.
He rolled out of the sunroom and headed for the front door. He opened it and rolled himself outside before peering down at the porch stairs, and there the man was running the belly of a very content stray.
There was something about looking at the man up close that warmed up Zachary's body. Maybe it was the little tan line of the man's nape of his neck or the baby talk he mumbled under his breath as he touched the meowing cat—Zachary wasn't sure, but he knew it made him want to talk to the man—have him look up at him with his dark eyes and perfect full brows.
"I call him, Chewy," Zachary said, feeling his body shiver in nerves. Leroy looked up, blinked, and then looked back at the cat.
"I see. I'm guessing it's because he's a biter?" Leroy said, looking up again as the cat gnawed on his finger.
"Yeah," Zachary said, as they both stared at each other. The man smiled awkwardly before turning away again, while Zachary simply sat there and watched.
Where were you? Zachary wondered as he looked on at the man. Maybe his job kept him away, and he didn't have much time to visit. That was the most probable reason. It didn't matter though, at least he found some time to come over, and that made Zachary happy—more than he thought it would. Zachary stared at the man's tan line, wondering if it would get worse under the heat.
"Would you like to come inside?" he blurted before he could think it through.
Leroy paused what he was doing to look up at Zach again and the older man felt the heat in his cheeks rise again.
"To see the other cats. They mostly hang out in the basement."
The younger man seemed to contemplate things for a while, and in a gap of a few moments he nodded, muttering, "Sure."
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