Toy Soldiers: Coming Forth (G)
Summary: Billy wasn't a cat person. Not really.
Notes: Written for prompt 81, "How?" Valiantly attempts to avoid the twee inherent in the concept of characters adopting a pet: I apologize for any that snuck by me. For those wondering, the cat looks like this. College AU: absolute fluff (no pun intended).
COMING FORTH
*
Five minutes before Billy left for class, he got an email from Paul. I can't make it to class today. Could you stop by afterwards and let me copy your notes?
Billy shrugged and wrote back Sure, and headed off to class. Joey had a seminar that evening and wouldn't be back until late: no big deal to stop by and drop off his notes, maybe stick around long enough to make sure Paul could read them.
Paul lived in one of those huge brick apartment buildings, not too far away from the college, that claimed to have a river-view, with a buzzer at the front door rather than a concierge. He answered the buzzer immediately. "Door's open." His voice was raspy, like he'd had a cold, and for a second Billy felt sorry for him.
Paul lived on the third floor. He opened the apartment door and blinked at Billy for a second, then said, "Sorry. It's kind of a mess. C'mon in." His eyes were all bloodshot.
"Uh, sure," Billy said. Paul wasn't exaggerating: it would've been an elegant apartment, all hardwood floors and antique furniture, except for the CDs scattered over the floor by the stereo, books all off the shelf, closet door thrown open and empty hangers in a tangled pile on that Colonial sofa. No beer bottles anywhere, though, or anything else like that. Not even in the kitchenette. If it was a case of hangover, he must've done his drinking out. "There's a test on Thursday, though." He slid his backpack down off his shoulder and knelt down next to it to get out his notes.
"Yeah, it's on the syllabus," Paul said. He looked around the apartment and sighed gustily. "I just...I was gonna clean all this up."
"What happened?"
"Diane left me."
Girlfriend, Billy guessed. "Aw, man," he said out loud. "That sucks."
"Yeah." Paul looked away: there were tears on his cheeks. "Two years. We'd been together two years."
Billy made a sympathetic noise, and went back to digging in his backpack for the notes. He didn't know the guy that well.
"You know what sucks the worst?"
There they were! Billy pulled the notes out, then rocked back on his heels and looked up at Paul. "What?"
"I'd just gotten her a kitten."
"A what?"
"Kitten," Paul repeated. "Purebred...something, I don't remember. Not Siamese. She'd always wanted one. Keeps sneezing: I've already had to take it to the vet four times."
It's a kitten. They don't break. Billy had wanted a puppy, back when he was a kid, but his dad was allergic and his mother just flat-out refused, probably because Billy had just broken two of her best paperweights. "She took it with her?" he guessed, and handed the notes to Paul.
Paul took them and stared at them for a second, as if he didn't know why Billy would be handing him papers, then walked over to drop them on a roll-top desk next to the window. "No," he said. "Still here. And I don't know what the fuck to do with it."
"Where is it?"
Paul looked around blankly. "I don't know. He likes to hide. Hang on." Before Billy could say No, wait, I was just asking, Paul had vanished into the next room, in search of the kitten. Billy could hear him calling for it.
Billy zipped up his bag again, and started to stand up. Then the curtain twitched.
Billy sat back down again on his heels, and watched. The curtain fluttered uncertainly; then Billy heard a soft thump, and the missing kitten emerged from under the fabric. He was brownish, sleek instead of fluffy, and had huge ears like a Siamese. He stood there for a second, as if waiting for Billy to admire him, then walked straight over to Billy and hopped up onto his knee, where he curled up into a small ball of fur, looked Billy straight in the eye, and began to purr.
Billy opened his mouth to call for Paul, then shut it again. Great. So the cat was affectionate. He'd go immediately when Paul dropped him off at the shelter.
The cat purred harder.
He didn't even have a name. The cat could be sick; hadn't Paul said he had to keep taking him to the vet? And Joey would kill him for coming home with a cat and no warning. It might not even be litter-trained.
The cat raised its head and mewed demandingly, then went back to purring.
Aw, fuck.
Billy carefully scooped the cat off his knee and stood up. "Hey, Paul?"
"Yeah?" Paul appeared in the doorway. "Oh, thank God, you found him."
"Mmm," Billy said. "If you want, I can take him."
"You would? I mean -- you're sure?"
"Have to check with Joey, but yeah, pretty sure." The kitten looked smug. Jesus. Hope Joey does like him. "Does he have a name?"
"Smoke," Paul said, with a vague hand-wave. "I'll get his stuff together. If you're sure -- I already owe you one for the notes. It's just that..."
"I'm sure," Billy said firmly, and Paul vanished again. Billy looked down at the kitten, and the kitten looked back at him, paw ever so slightly extended. Not Smoke. A cat like this needed a better name. Something elegant.
"Osiris," Billy said softly, and the kitten gently sank his claws into Billy's sleeve and purred approval.
-end-
Notes: Written for prompt 81, "How?" Valiantly attempts to avoid the twee inherent in the concept of characters adopting a pet: I apologize for any that snuck by me. For those wondering, the cat looks like this. College AU: absolute fluff (no pun intended).
COMING FORTH
*
Five minutes before Billy left for class, he got an email from Paul. I can't make it to class today. Could you stop by afterwards and let me copy your notes?
Billy shrugged and wrote back Sure, and headed off to class. Joey had a seminar that evening and wouldn't be back until late: no big deal to stop by and drop off his notes, maybe stick around long enough to make sure Paul could read them.
Paul lived in one of those huge brick apartment buildings, not too far away from the college, that claimed to have a river-view, with a buzzer at the front door rather than a concierge. He answered the buzzer immediately. "Door's open." His voice was raspy, like he'd had a cold, and for a second Billy felt sorry for him.
Paul lived on the third floor. He opened the apartment door and blinked at Billy for a second, then said, "Sorry. It's kind of a mess. C'mon in." His eyes were all bloodshot.
"Uh, sure," Billy said. Paul wasn't exaggerating: it would've been an elegant apartment, all hardwood floors and antique furniture, except for the CDs scattered over the floor by the stereo, books all off the shelf, closet door thrown open and empty hangers in a tangled pile on that Colonial sofa. No beer bottles anywhere, though, or anything else like that. Not even in the kitchenette. If it was a case of hangover, he must've done his drinking out. "There's a test on Thursday, though." He slid his backpack down off his shoulder and knelt down next to it to get out his notes.
"Yeah, it's on the syllabus," Paul said. He looked around the apartment and sighed gustily. "I just...I was gonna clean all this up."
"What happened?"
"Diane left me."
Girlfriend, Billy guessed. "Aw, man," he said out loud. "That sucks."
"Yeah." Paul looked away: there were tears on his cheeks. "Two years. We'd been together two years."
Billy made a sympathetic noise, and went back to digging in his backpack for the notes. He didn't know the guy that well.
"You know what sucks the worst?"
There they were! Billy pulled the notes out, then rocked back on his heels and looked up at Paul. "What?"
"I'd just gotten her a kitten."
"A what?"
"Kitten," Paul repeated. "Purebred...something, I don't remember. Not Siamese. She'd always wanted one. Keeps sneezing: I've already had to take it to the vet four times."
It's a kitten. They don't break. Billy had wanted a puppy, back when he was a kid, but his dad was allergic and his mother just flat-out refused, probably because Billy had just broken two of her best paperweights. "She took it with her?" he guessed, and handed the notes to Paul.
Paul took them and stared at them for a second, as if he didn't know why Billy would be handing him papers, then walked over to drop them on a roll-top desk next to the window. "No," he said. "Still here. And I don't know what the fuck to do with it."
"Where is it?"
Paul looked around blankly. "I don't know. He likes to hide. Hang on." Before Billy could say No, wait, I was just asking, Paul had vanished into the next room, in search of the kitten. Billy could hear him calling for it.
Billy zipped up his bag again, and started to stand up. Then the curtain twitched.
Billy sat back down again on his heels, and watched. The curtain fluttered uncertainly; then Billy heard a soft thump, and the missing kitten emerged from under the fabric. He was brownish, sleek instead of fluffy, and had huge ears like a Siamese. He stood there for a second, as if waiting for Billy to admire him, then walked straight over to Billy and hopped up onto his knee, where he curled up into a small ball of fur, looked Billy straight in the eye, and began to purr.
Billy opened his mouth to call for Paul, then shut it again. Great. So the cat was affectionate. He'd go immediately when Paul dropped him off at the shelter.
The cat purred harder.
He didn't even have a name. The cat could be sick; hadn't Paul said he had to keep taking him to the vet? And Joey would kill him for coming home with a cat and no warning. It might not even be litter-trained.
The cat raised its head and mewed demandingly, then went back to purring.
Aw, fuck.
Billy carefully scooped the cat off his knee and stood up. "Hey, Paul?"
"Yeah?" Paul appeared in the doorway. "Oh, thank God, you found him."
"Mmm," Billy said. "If you want, I can take him."
"You would? I mean -- you're sure?"
"Have to check with Joey, but yeah, pretty sure." The kitten looked smug. Jesus. Hope Joey does like him. "Does he have a name?"
"Smoke," Paul said, with a vague hand-wave. "I'll get his stuff together. If you're sure -- I already owe you one for the notes. It's just that..."
"I'm sure," Billy said firmly, and Paul vanished again. Billy looked down at the kitten, and the kitten looked back at him, paw ever so slightly extended. Not Smoke. A cat like this needed a better name. Something elegant.
"Osiris," Billy said softly, and the kitten gently sank his claws into Billy's sleeve and purred approval.
-end-