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Ten’s on his way home from the studio, weighed down by his training bag and a tote stuffed with his groceries, when something in his peripheral vision catches his attention and makes him stop in his tracks. It’s barely 9 PM, but it’s already dark, the impending autumn stealing the last sliver of sunlight from Ten’s late evening walks back home — he has to do a double-take when he notices the lump of the human body on the park bench near his favorite convenience store. Homeless people don’t usually frequent this park, too small and open to be considered a shelter, but the person on the bench doesn’t look the type in the first place — they’re dressed in denim shorts and some kind of silky shirt. The dark gleaming fabric, reflecting the yellow light of the streetlamps, Ten realizes, is what caught his eye in the first place. And now, with every tentative step forward he takes, he makes out more details of the person curled into a ball on the bench: the frayed canvas shoes, the round knees, the mop of dark hair, the tail.
The tail?
Ten stops once again to squint into the darkness. It is, undeniably, a tail — black and wrapped around their calves as if to keep them warmer. Ten’s heart clenches.
Who in their right mind would leave their hybrid out and alone at night? Maybe their owner just went to a convenience store and lost track of time choosing cereal or whatever — Ten glances back at the shop’s porch, but it’s empty, and no one seems to be coming out. Right before Ten’s eyes, the cashier girl gets up and walks around the counter to turn the “OPEN” sign around. Unsurprisingly, it says “CLOSED” on the back. Fuck.
Ten looks back at the hybrid. They seem to be sleeping, and he probably shouldn’t bother them, but really — Ten’s already freezing in his jeans and tee, and it’s only going to get colder at night. The shorts and a button-up won’t cut it, they will catch a cold if they lie there like this for another hour or two.
“Hey?” Ten tries, timid, taking a few soft steps towards the stranger. “Hey, are you alright?”
There’s no reaction. Ten sighs, swings the heavy tote behind his back to free his arms, and comes up closer. Two ears are peeking from the hybrid’s hair, black on the outside and soft pink on the inside. The edge of the left ear is notched. It twitches when Ten takes the final step forward and sits down on his haunches in front of the bench, raising his hand but unsure if it’s right to try and touch them. “Hey? Hello?”
The ear twitches again, and then the hybrid finally jerks awake, sitting up so abruptly that Ten almost falls back on his ass in surprise. It — he? — stares down at Ten, unblinking, his dark eyes wide and flashing yellow for a split second when they reflect the streetlight. They’re very pretty.
That’s not what Ten should be thinking about right now.
“Um.” He straightens his shoulders, but doesn’t get up yet. “Are you alright? Are you lost?”
The hybrid squints down at him, then shakes his head no. Ten isn’t sure what part of his question this is supposed to be the answer to.
“Where’s your owner?”
The hybrid tilts his head to the side, pulling his mouth into a tight-lipped smile that reminds Ten of that silly polite cat meme. But he doesn’t look particularly sad — his eyes are curious, flicking up and down Ten’s frame as if the stranger doesn’t get what Ten is doing here.
Ten doesn’t get what he is doing here either. He tries to think of what to say. What are you supposed to do when you find a stray hybrid alone at night? Especially when his tail starts to tap on the bench beside him like he’s anxious? Ten doesn’t want to make him anxious!
“I, sorry, I just —” Ten tries, gulping half of his brains down under the hybrid’s observing gaze. “I just wanted to check on you, if you’re alright, I mean, you shouldn’t be sleeping outside like this. It’s dangerous, and you could catch a cold.”
That earns him another half-shrug and not much else. Ten sighs. “Do you know your address?”
The corners of the hybrid’s mouth curl up a bit. Then he shakes his head no.
Ten sighs again. This stray really doesn’t look like one: his clothes are relatively clean, he doesn’t seem either famished or scared. But Ten can’t just leave him alone here, right?
His find doesn’t wear a collar, but there’s something else hanging off his neck, a red beaded necklace with two little jingle bells attached to it. Maybe they have some kind of engraving on them? Ten carefully reaches out. “Can I?”
The cat (boy? man? Ten’s really out of his depth) follows his line of sight, then snorts quietly, but ultimately tips forward so that Ten can easily reach his neck.
“This might help us find your home, yeah?” Ten half-whispers, catching the dangly necklace on the tips of his fingers. The golden bells slide into Ten’s palm, heavy and cold to the touch, as he uses his other hand to scratch under the kitty’s soft chin out of pure habit. It takes him a moment to realise what he’s doing, but before Ten can stumble back and apologize for his stupid behaviour, the hybrid lets out a lazy purr, his wide eyes narrowing into smug little slits exactly like Louis’ sometimes do.
Ten is pretty sure that’s not how you’re supposed to treat cat hybrids you’ve just met.
He still keeps scratching as he turns the bells around with his thumb, squinting down at them to make out the engraving in the dark. On one bell, there’s a “J.” On the other one, “S.” Oh well. Ten doesn’t even know what he expected to find in the first place — it’s not like you can put your full phone number on such a tiny bell.
“Is this your name?” Ten tries, scratching behind the hybrid’s ear when he turns his head and pushes Ten’s fingers there. It’s not until both of his ears are thoroughly scratched that he blinks his eyes open for a moment and rewards Ten with a small nod.
Ten can’t immediately think of a name that starts with S, so he goes for J first, shucking his bags to the ground to free both of his hands and further improve their communication. “Jack? James?” No reaction. “Jackson? Jimmy? Johnny?” The hybrid lets out another purr, smirking with his eyes closed. “Yeah? Johnny?” Many nods.
“Johnny,” Ten repeats, happy that he didn’t have to google it and read out a full list of 153 Baby Boy Names That Start With J or something. However, one solved problem leaves him right in front of the next one. “What do I do with you, Johnny?”
Johnny shrugs like he doesn’t have a care in the world, tipping his head back and leaning into Ten’s fingers when he starts to scratch at his nape next. His hair is so unfairly soft. Ten’s always secretly wanted to pet Taeyong — the only hybrid that goes to his dance class — to see if his hair was as soft as it looked, but it seemed so impolite to ask. Ten bites his lips into his mouth.
“Do you wanna come home with me?”
Johnny’s eyes fly wide open, and Ten shrinks into himself under the stare that clearly says, “Really?”
“I mean,” he mumbles, “at least for the night? I live right around the block. And we can look for your owner in the morning, yeah? You shouldn’t be spending the night here.”
Johnny raises his eyes to the night sky as though he’s thinking. Then, he nods again and hops off the bench, slinging the worn backpack he was using as a pillow over his shoulder. When Ten hastily rises from the ground and picks up his bags, he finds himself at eye-level with Johnny’s necklace instead of his face.
Ten has no idea what he is supposed to do with a six feet tall catboy he found on the street.
***
It turns out to be not that complicated, though. They walk to Ten’s apartment building, Johnny swinging his arms and Ten clutching the straps of his bags because otherwise his hands seem unnaturally empty. They go inside and take the elevator up to the sixth floor. Ten spends an embarrassing amount of time fishing the keys out of his pockets.
Louis and Leon usually greet him at the door when he comes in, but this time they barely sniff his ankles before scattering back as soon as Johnny steps inside after him, awkwardly pulling the door closed behind himself in Ten’s tiny hallway. Louis runs away and straight under the couch; Leon, ever the extravert, sticks around for another few seconds, tail high in the air, but eventually flees into the kitchen and out of sight as well.
Ten sighs, reaching out to slap the light switch and set down his bags. When he turns back to Johnny, the latter looks outright pitiful, slouching onto himself and sneaking apologetic glances at where Louis has hidden.
“Oh, no-no-no, don’t worry!” Ten immediately reaches up to pet his head again, although reaching up to do that does feel kind of weird. “They’re just wary of new people! But they’ll come around!”
The cats do come around, in the morning, when Ten walks out of his room to Johnny sitting cross-legged on the floor, petting Leon in his lap as Louis stares them down from the cat tower. Ten can’t help but grin at the sight, and when Johnny’s ears twitch and he looks up only to grin back at him, Ten’s biggest sweatshirt and the sweatpants he gave him already covered in lint, something ticklish and stupid flutters in the pit of Ten’s stomach. His stomach always does weird things in the morning before he has his first cup of coffee.
It turns out that Johnny likes coffee as well, slinking up next to Ten behind the kitchen counter and looking down at him pleadingly (weird!) as soon as Ten pours himself a mug. Through some trial and error and more ear scratches Ten learns that Johnny likes his coffee half-coffee, half-milk, but no sugar — and then, after a basic breakfast of cat food for the cats and fried rice with eggs for Ten and Johnny (again, Ten doesn’t know what he expected), Ten finally settles in front of his laptop.
It takes him most of the morning to browse through every website, forum, social media account, and Reddit thread dedicated to hybrids in his city in search of anyone looking for a six feet tall black cat hybrid named Johnny, but in the end, he comes out empty-handed. No pics. No mentions in any of the public registers (there are a few other Johns, Jonathans and Johnnys, but they don’t match the description at all). No “Have You Seen Him?” posts. Ten decides to give Johnny’s owner the benefit of the doubt — what if they only lost him yesterday and didn’t have time to post anything because they spent the whole night searching for him on the streets? — but no such posts appear the next day, or the day after that, or the day that follows. By the end of the week, Ten has familiarised himself with the entire community of hybrids and hybrid owners of his town, and Johnny has familiarised himself with Louis enough for the latter to let Johnny wipe his eyes (no, Ten is not jealous). When Ten asks Johnny if he wants to put up a post with his own photo, Johnny shakes his head. Ten doesn’t insist. He’s read enough of those Reddit posts to know that not all owners are worth coming back to. Egotistically, he can’t help but wish that Johnny’s owner, if they even exist in the first place, never comes looking for him.
And — yes, the right thing to do probably would’ve been to call one of the hybrid shelters Ten has found on the web and send Johnny to a place where specially trained people would’ve taken proper care of him, but … The shelter volunteers certainly have a lot on their plate already, right? They obviously wouldn’t have enough time to give Johnny all the ear scratches he needs to receive in a day. And Ten has already googled everything he could on cat hybrids’ health and preferable diet and ideal living conditions, and everything fits into his budget, and he has more than enough space to accommodate Johnny, his couch folds out into a perfectly fine bed, Ten has slept on it many times, and he also knows a lot of good chicken and fish recipes already, and some of those shelters had very questionable reputations anyway, so … so … You surely see where Ten’s coming from, right?
***
Johnny fits into Ten’s daily life like he’s always been there, and the more time passes, the harder it is to imagine a life without him. Ten buys him some proper clothes for the autumn (Johnny turns out to be extraordinarily picky about his style, which probably shouldn’t have come as a surprise given his attire on the day Ten met him, so they spend a full weekend hopping from one thrift shop to another until Johnny has everything he needs and Ten has five more flamboyant shirts and soft hoodies he didn’t really need, but Johnny insisted he looked good in them — how, Ten wouldn’t be able to explain, but Johnny got his point across). Johnny gets confident enough to stare Louis down with equal intensity (and then proceed to wipe his eyes; Ten still isn’t jealous). Ten gives him the spare set of his apartment keys, and sometimes Johnny leaves with him in the morning only to present Ten with a small stack of cash by the evening, usually also bringing some restaurant leftovers — from which Ten draws a conclusion that this is where Johnny finds his gigs. Sometimes they go out to see a movie together, and sometimes they spend whole days nestled in Ten’s bed and watching Netflix on Ten’s laptop, Johnny’s head fitting itself under Ten’s hand for ear scratches and his tail wrapping posessively around Ten’s thigh. Sometimes, Johnny falls asleep in the same bed, wrapped around Ten like a purring weighted blanket, and if Ten doesn’t wake him up till the very morning, it’s only because he dozes off as well.
Sometimes, when Johnny jumps on him as soon as Ten gets back home to nuzzle into the top of Ten’s head like he’d been missing him, or when he tugs Ten along by his hand when they’re walking somewhere and Ten can’t match the span of Johny’s strides, or when Johnny fights with the cats for the spot in Ten’s bed, or pulls Ten into his lap for cuddles that always leave them both drowsy, or does the dishes when Ten dumps them into the sink for tomorrow because he’s too tired, or lets Ten pet his tail only to start flicking his nose with its tip, or buys a slice of Ten’s favorite cake and just leaves it in the fridge for Ten to find it later, or somehow convinces the cats to stop scratching that one corner of the couch and looks like a proud dad when they leave it immediately after a hiss from him, or insists on eating Ten’s tasteless cookies that were clearly baked wrong, or just keeps snickering at him (when Ten isn’t even doing anything remotely funny!) to the point where Johnny’s cheeks squish into smiley fond whiskers — in those moments, Ten thinks, what if, but he never lets himself finish. It would be totally inappropriate for a bunch of reasons. Johnny can’t even … ugh. Ten really must not.
Ten really must not, but the thought keeps coming back, over and over.
When Johnny towers over him in the kitchen and flips through the shelves right above Ten’s head, gently pulling Ten back by the forehead to protect him from another cabinet door swinging open.
When Johnny sits him down and takes it upon himself to cook breakfast, always so fluid and sure, easily managing not to spill or knock anything over as he cracks the eggs into the pan with his right hand and reaches into the fridge with his left, keeping the bottom cabinet open with his knee to throw the eggshells into the bin right away, looking so sorely at home.
When Johnny comes out of the shower and stretches, cat-like, all the way up to the ceiling, his white long sleeve riding up his stomach and flashing the dark happy trail under his navel.
Or when he yawns, so wide that Ten can see his pointy canines and pink tongue, only to open his eyes mid-yawn and smile at him when he catches Ten staring.
When they’re watching a movie and Johnny plays with Ten’s hands like they’re squishy toys.
When Johnny fights Ten off his own laptop and puts on 10 Things I Hate About You for the umpteenth time.
When the bells on Johnny’s necklace jingle as he moves around the house, and Ten can’t help that his head turns to the sound like a compass needle, hoping the quiet ding-dong would come nearer, get louder.
When Ten wakes up in the middle of the night, suffocated under the weight of two cats and one catperson, and manages to get Louis off his neck, but is unable to unclasp Johnny's limbs, squeezing him as if Ten were a plushie.
When Johnny eats something straight out of Ten’s hands, catching another cookie or a chip into his mouth and smirking around it with his eyes still trained on Ten’s face, as if he’s challenging him to be bolder, although Ten isn’t even sure if there’s a bolder way of feeding someone.
When Johnny — Ten doesn’t even know if he realizes he’s doing it — drinks his coffee and takes a first tentative lick off the surface like a cat would, flashing his pointy tongue for a second, and only then takes a gulp like a human, sighing in contentment.
When Johnny tags along to the studio and wins Taeyong over with a single pack of sweet potato snacks from the vending machine, making Ten’s stomach sink at the sight of them curled together in the corner, Taeyong chattering away like never before.
When Ten gets fidgety and restless by the end of the week, and Johnny, tired of him pacing around the room, pins him down to the couch with his whole body to purr, low and even, until Ten’s anxiety lets up and his muscles inevitably turn into jelly.
Or when Johnny simply gazes at Ten for minutes on end like he sometimes does — looking fully focused and spaced out at the same time, licking the curled corners of his mouth absentmindedly. It always makes Ten’s face heat up, but even as he turns his back to Johnny not to let him notice, he can’t stop the frantic beating of his heart, feeling like a mouse one second away from being caught.
There's not a single day for Ten to take a break from all of this. Never a moment’s peace. They’re living together, after all, so Johnny’s everywhere — and at the same time, would you believe, not everywhere enough.
Oh, Ten is so screwed.
***
It becomes acutely apparent to Ten how screwed he really is when Jaehyun from the childrens’ ballroom dance class invites him to dinner. Ten isn’t really in the mood for dates, but he still goes — everyone his age goes on dates, is Ten any worse? — and spends the whole evening looking at Jaehyun’s charming dimples and imagining the smiley whiskers in their place. He misses the better half of the balls Jaehyun sends to his court throughout the evening, and probably gravely disappoints him, but Jaehyun still hugs him tight at parting.
It doesn’t help that Johnny’s already there in the entryway when Ten comes back home, as he almost always is, except this time he squints at Ten instead of immediately drawing him into a hug, and when he finally does, it’s with a pout. As if to add insult to injury, Johnny proceeds to act strange all night — touching Ten more than he usually would, brushing a hand over Ten’s shoulders, or his back, or even his knees when Johnny inevitably pushes his head into Ten’s lap for his bedtime ear scratches.
And Ten aches so badly to just — reach back, to touch Johnny anywhere else but his ears, to have his hands in Johnny’s, to wrap around him, to hug his shoulders and bury his nose in Johnny’s neck, but he doesn’t let himself. Cat hybrid ethics 101, repeated on every related forum: don’t try to touch them until they initiate it themselves. If you need to touch them, ask for their permission first. But holding hands isn’t really something Ten thinks he can formally ask Johnny for. That’s not how it works.
When Johnny crawls into Ten’s bed that night, pushing Louis and Leon to the sides and hissing at them back (for how much bigger Johnny is compared to them, he is exactly as petty and competitive), Ten pretends to be fast asleep. A few minutes later, when they all have finally settled down with Johnny wrapped around Ten’s back and the cats curled against Ten’s stomach, the cumulative volume of purring becomes nearly impossible to fall asleep to. Still, Ten doesn’t move or tell them to be quiet. Under the rhythmic hum the other three are making, he can discern the unmistakable sound of fingers scratching through thick fur. Ten knows it’s Johnny, petting one of the cats’ heads with the arm he has thrown over Ten’s side. It’s nothing unusual. Ten likes to be swathed in their warmth and noises, he’s used to it.
Only that night, Ten wishes he could be petted too.
***
“Why don’t you just talk to him about it,” Yangyang whines, swirling the lukewarm coffee in his cup. “Maybe you’re just making it all up in your own head. Or not.”
“Yeah, maybe I should — would, if, like, ugh,” Ten laments, rubbing his face tiredly. “He doesn’t speak, Yangyang, he only purrs and keeps looking at me! What kind of talk would that be?”
“You mean, like, doesn’t speak because he doesn’t want to, or because he’s,” — Ten can basically see the cogs turning in Yangyang’s head as he looks for the better wording — “I mean, because he physically can’t?”
Ten shrugs. He didn’t directly confront Johnny about it — didn’t want to make it look like that was a problem for him. It isn’t. They’re communicating fine — well, at least about mundane things. Sometimes Johnny would leave a note on the fridge. “Late shift, eat the curry” with a little kitty face in the corner. Johnny has cute handwriting, too. Ten keeps all the notes he’s received so far in a notebook, well-hidden in his closet. God, he’s so pathetic.
“Holy shit!” Yangyang suddenly exclaims, slamming his fists on the table so hard that his cup almost topples over and the barista gives them a dirty look from behind the counter. “That’s why they threw him out! Because he doesn’t speak!”
Ten buries his face in his hands again. He did think about it as well — but in that case, interrogating Johnny about his situation would be even worse. He tells Yangyang as much, but his friend strongly disagrees, arguing that sweeping the problem under the carpet would, in the long run, just reinforce the societal stigma that caused it. Kids these days.
Ten knows that Yangyang is right. And still, he spends his walk back home inventing more and more excuses not to act on his knowledge. It’s just — he doesn’t want to force Johnny to explain himself. If he wanted, he surely would’ve told Ten about it himself, right? Right?
Okay, the thing is — Ten knows that Johnny is fond of him. Clearly fond beyond the simple gratitude that being allowed to live in Ten’s home calls for. Ten knows that Johnny cares, that Johnny makes an effort to make him smile (and smiles back twice as widely), that Johnny comes to sleep in his bed because he likes it there, that Johnny purrs his heart out hugging him almost every night because he’s comfortable. They’re fine.
But at the same time — what if Johnny thinks that he has to do all of that to keep a roof over his head? What if he thinks that Ten’s some kind of cat fetishist (which he isn’t. He isn't obsessed with any particular animal. He watches a perfectly regular amount of furry adult animation for an average person his age), and that’s why Johnny’s playing into his cat side so much? Kneading Ten and all? Purring? Offering up his addictively soft tail for petting? What if they’re actually not fine at all?
The first thing Johnny does when Ten steps inside is drag him to the couch in front of the TV (they’re broadcasting The Lion King — what else could it be) only to deposit himself into Ten’s lap, looking positively blissed out when Ten sinks his fingers into his hair and gently rubs down. When Johnny starts purring, Ten closes his eyes and promises himself that he’ll think about it in the morning.
Johnny pokes him in the arm to make sure Ten doesn’t miss Mufasa’s death.
***
Ten’s pillow doesn’t bring him any wisdom overnight. It’s Monday, and a shitty Monday at that: Ten has to be up early for his morning classes (who puts morning classes on Monday?), and it’s raining, and Leon had kicked the better half of the litter box contents out on the floor in his attempts to bury his dark deeds, so by the time Ten sits down in the kitchen, bleary and disgruntled, to meditate over his first cup of coffee, it’s no wonder that his thought process takes the most pessimistic turn it possibly could. Johnny must actually hate his guts. Or be using him, which Ten fully deserves, to be completely honest. In all those weeks, he hasn’t even made sure Johnny had all his shots (Ten puts that on the calendar on his phone not to forget). Also he totally watches too much furry adult animation for an average person his age, because the only “not too much” amount for his situation is zero. And don’t even get him started on the total lack of communication with other hybrids Ten has sentenced Johnny to by not offering him an option of the hybrid shelter. Surely Johnny would’ve preferred to spend more time with the people who understand him better and also — very likely — give better ear scratches. Ten will bring that up in the afternoon when he’s back from work, and then, when Johnny gladly agrees to finally get rid of him, Ten will continue on with his boring, miserable, utterly despicable and lonely life like he dese—
“Why is my coffee black?"
Ten nearly falls off his stool. His phone does clatter against the tiles, and Ten instinctively ducks down to see if it’s smashed only to bump heads with Johnny under the table. They both yelp, and by the time Ten finally straightens up, clutching his thankfully intact phone to his chest, Johnny’s red as a beetroot.
“What the fuck?” Ten heaves, blinking away the tears that sprung from his eyes at the impact.
“Sorry, I’m sorry!” Johnny’s ears flatten against his head, and it would’ve been both the cutest and the most heartbreaking thing Ten’s ever seen if he wasn’t already shocked beyond ability to experience any other emotions.
“You can speak?” he finally croaks out, straining for air.
Johnny gives him that tight-lipped not-really-smile again, eyes flicking to the ground. “I always could. You just never forgot to add milk to my coffee before.”
Now that Ten’s thinking about it, he did forget to add milk to Johnny’s cup in his distress, but that’s — that’s not the point. “Why ...” Ten doesn’t even know what he’s asking. He puts his damn phone on the table and pushes it as far away from himself as he can, just in case. “How— what ...?” Ten breathes out, then peels himself off his stool to grab the milk and fill Johnny’s cup at last, buying himself some time to gather his marbles. “Why didn’t you speak before?”
Johnny stares at the mug like he isn’t sure he can pick it back up, so Ten pushes it forward until Johnny has no choice but to grab it. “I mean,” he fumbles, his tail swishing back and forth behind his back. “I was kinda … not in the mood to talk on the night you woke me up, but you just went with it, like, what? Who does that? And then in the morning you didn’t look like you expected me to talk at all. So I thought, okay? At first I just— I don’t know.” Johnny finally takes a lick of his coffee under Ten’s pleading stare, and his ears perk up the littlest bit at that, so Ten allows himself to take another breath. “At first I just kept silent for shits and giggles, like, ha-ha, I wonder how long this would last if I just say nothing at all. I didn’t think you’d actually want to keep me,” Jonny murmurs into his cup, and the last thing Ten should be contemplating right now is how unfairly hot his low voice sounds — while all this time Ten hadn’t had the slightest idea — but here he is. “And then I thought that you’d kick me out if you realized that I could speak and lied. But then by the time I realized you probably wouldn’t have kicked me out either way, I just thought, maybe it’s better this way. These two don't meow a lot, so why should I. You don’t like the noise.”
Ten gulps down the lump in his throat. “You’re not noise,” he cracks, surprised with how small his own voice sounds. “You’re not noise.”
Johnny’s ears flatten again. “I’m sorry. I really just forgot today, I mean it, if you’d rather keep it as it was, I don’t mind—”
“Shut up?” Ten squeals. “No, I mean, I mean please don’t shut up, what the hell? I want to talk to you, I just thought you couldn’t and … and ...”
Johnny raises his eyes from the cup to squint at him, incredulous. “You didn’t actually think I got my gigs without saying a word, right?”
It’s Ten’s turn to go red in the face, judging from how his cheeks burn. He avoids Johnny’s eyes. “I don’t know, there’s … ways ...”
Johnny snorts at him. “I mean, I know I’m cute, but not that cute.”
“Shut up,” Ten mumbles again, which only gets him another snort.
“See?”
“Shut— ugh!” Ten covers his face. “Whatever! Just — yeah, thank you for finally speaking up. Please don’t shut up anymore. In general.”
“Thank you for forgetting my milk, I guess,” Johnny murmurs from above, uncharacteristically timid again, so Ten finally looks back at him. He’s suddenly hit with so many things at once — he has so much to ask, now that Johnny would finally answer, he doesn’t even know where to start. When he starts hyperventilating all over again, Johnny reaches out and pats Ten’s head like he sometimes pats Louis. “One thing at a time.”
Ten wants the earth to swallow him up. He gulps another breath. “Why were you on the street?”
Johnny rolls his eyes. “Eh? I used to work as a bartender in that one place, a bar with basic food, you know. Was actually earning some impressive tips,” Johnny pets himself on the ear, giving Ten a crooked complacent smirk that has to be his signature customer smile. Ten totally gets where the tips came from. He’s hot at the collar. “Anyway, the owner let me sleep on the couch in the back, so that’s where I lived.”
“Your owner?”
Johnny gives him yet another polite cat smile, but this one is more annoyed than sad, so that’s some progress. “The place’s owner, silly. I don’t have an owner.”
Ten pointedly ignores the tug in his gut at being called silly. In that tone of voice. In that tone of Johnny’s voice, which in and of itself has only recently been discovered. Not the point of this conversation at all. “Why?”
Johnny shrugs. “She died.”
Ten reels back. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry—”
“No, it’s fine. She was already pretty old when she adopted me when I was ten, so, yeah.” Johnny scratches the back of his head. “She didn’t have children, so we used to joke that she had skipped right to the grandson. She was kinda cool.” He smiles to the ground, and Ten pushes his hands under his thighs on the stool not to reach out and pet him better. “Anyway, when she passed away, some nephew inherited her house, and I was already of age, so he was more than happy to let me go my own way. Said his daughter was allergic to cats, but I think he just wanted to get rid of me. Which I totally get, I mean, he was seeing me for the first time in his life. And I’ve just been taking odd jobs here and there since then.”
Ten hums, not really knowing what to say. He doubts Johnny would like all the “sorry for your loss” bullshit. “I would’ve loved to meet her,” he mumbles instead.
Johnny grins at him. “She would’ve liked you.”
Ten blinks, willing the warmth in his chest to stop spreading headward. “Um, so. What happened to the bar?”
Johnny scowls. “Starbucks.”
“Noo!”
“Yeah, and when they closed off, I just— wandered. Thought maybe some other place would take me, but you know, those things take time. And then you found me,” Johnny smirks, tilting his head to the side. “So. Are you kicking me out or not? Because I think the guys where I’m working now have already warmed up to me enough to let me sleep on their couch. Just saying.”
Ten bristles, even though he can see that Johnny’s just teasing him. “You’re staying here!” He stirs awkwardly. “Err, I mean, if you want to?”
Johnny makes a show of considering his options. Again, Ten knows it’s just a game, but he can’t help but jump on his seat impatiently. Maybe Johnny is really getting tired of him. But even if he moves out, they can still be friends, right? Just meet from time to time. Preferably often. Ten gnaws at his lips.
“For crying out loud!” Johnny gives him an exasperated once-over. “Do you really think I’m a martyr or something? Of course I wanna live here! Wasn’t it clear enough?! I even do the dishes!”
Ten sags in his seat, shrugging. “I know, but like. I don’t know.”
“And you give the best ear scratches in my life, like, why would I trade down?”
“Really?” Ten perks up.
Johnny scrunches his nose at him. “Don’t let this go to your head, but yeah, totally.”
Ten scrunches his nose back. “You won’t hear the end of it.”
“You’d have to prove your point all the time, though. I’m not that easily convinced.”
Ten untucks his hands from under himself with a groan. “Oh my God, I get it, come here already!”
Johnny goes willingly, all but slumping to the floor to put his head where it belongs — on Ten’s lap, that is. They both sigh in relief as Ten begins brushing his fingers through the hair behind Johnny’s twitchy ears. “Where’s the gash from?” he dares to ask, flicking it.
“A nail.”
“A nail?” Ten reconsiders liking Johnny’s grandma, immediately imagining her as some type of Cruella de Vil-ish lady with long and pointy manicure.
“An old and nasty nail,” Johnny complains. “It was sticking out from the lintel in the attic! Why do they always make the doors so short?”
Ten snorts despite himself.
“Laughing at my misery?” Johnny seethes from where his face is tucked into Ten’s thighs.
“No, not at all!” Ten quickly redeems himself (and the grandma in his head). “Nasty, nasty nail.”
“Eh, it’s alright. It was meant to happen. Something had to stain my appearance, or otherwise the world wouldn't have been able to bear my otherworldly beauty.”
“No, I think it’s sexy.”
“Yeah?”
Ten bites his tongue. Had he had a half an hour to come up with a witty response, he would’ve turned it into a joke. But he doesn’t have a half an hour. He’s not witty at all. He has hands full of Johnny, this alone already makes him dumb as hell. Damn. Damn. Maybe if he just doesn’t react, Johnny would drop the topic. It’s totally not awkward to scratch his ears in silence. It hadn’t been awkward before, why would it be now? Right?
“Tennn,” Johnny drawls, deep, right into his lap, and Ten was definitely not prepared for how his name would sound in Johnny’s mouth.
“Mhm?”
“Why don’t you have a boyfriend?” Johnny says — just fucking says it, completely unfazed, lazy and playful as if he isn’t smashing Ten face-first right into the core of their as yet unsolved problem. “Or a girlfriend. Or a badass pirate suitor.”
Ten gulps. “I don’t know. Why would I.”
“I mean, you’re cute.”
Ten doesn’t dare move — besides proceeding to scratch Johnny’s ears at regular, totally even and not at all shaky pace. He isn’t freaking out, no. He just — he just spends a lot of time mulling over his words. He has to choose the right ones, after all. He’s seen enough romantic comedies to know how things usually go when the protagonist blurts out “I’m not interested in anyone right now” or something similar to their obvious crush, meaning one thing, but communicating something else entirely. He’s not going down that road. Johnny, to give him some credit, lets him think this time.
But damn, if he says “I already like someone,” it can turn into a disaster as well. Or if he puts it vaguely, like “I’m fine with what I have already,” Johnny would totally think Ten’s fine with having three pairs of ears to scratch, and that’s it. Not ideal. Ten doesn’t think he remembers a single rom-com where they said the right thing on the first try. He throws a panicked glance at the kitchen clock to see how much time he’s already spent thinking — only to find out that he should’ve been on his way to work fifteen minutes ago. And he’s always late on Mondays, the manager’s going to have his head! Fuck, fuck, fuck!!!
“I think,” he blurts out just to say something at last, even though he has no clue what he’s about to think, and he’s so damn late, “I think … I think … ohmygodIthinkIlikeyoubutI’msolateforworkIreallyneedtorunI’msosorrywhatthefuck,” Ten utters, terror growing in his gut with every word that spills out of him. Oh, he’s fucked up. He’s so fucked. He gasps for air. “Can we, like, continue this conversation in the evening,” he whimpers. “Or not continue, I mean, forget it, just ignore me, really, I—”
“Okay,” Johnny hums, even, from where his face is still hidden in Ten’s lap. Ten is going to fucking combust. Okay what?! Okay, you like me? Or okay, I will forget it?!
He doesn’t quite feel his face when Johnny peels himself off his lap and stands up only to casually grab Ten’s hand and pull him to the door — Ten nearly forgets to snatch his phone from the table. In the living room, Johnny jerks Ten’s hoodie from under a sleeping Leon on the couch and pulls it over Ten’s head; Ten only has enough presence of mind to pull his arms through the sleeves. His heart is beating so loud in his ears he can barely hear what Johnny says as he pulls the rumpled hood off Ten’s head.
“I have a very good memory, though.”
Ten’s scared heart stills for a very, very long beat and then resumes its hammering with thrice the fervor. His head spins, and he doesn’t know how he manages to stuff himself into the jacket Johnny’s holding up for him, but the next thing he knows, he’s already in the entryway, shoes on and his bag on his shoulder.
Johnny’s still standing in front of him — he’s trying to hand him the keys, actually, and Ten blindly grabs them, but his fingers get stuck in Johnny’s. The little bells on Johnny’s necklace dangle right in front of him, hypnotizing. “You’ll still be here in the evening, right?” he asks shakily, loathe to let go of Johnny’s hand.
“Yoo’d stil’ be hewe inna evenin’,” Johnny mocks him, but not unkindly — his whiskers are back. “I’m not some stupid dog to run out as soon as the door’s open, who do you think I am?”
“Actually, Leon almost ran away one time when—”
Johnny pecks him on the nose.
“Aren’t you late for work?” he asks, smug, after a couple of moments when Ten still hasn’t un-frozen from his stupor. This curled mouth will be the death of him, Ten thinks. One day. But not today, though. Today, Ten has to survive to be able to come back home and — and finish. Whatever that — that conversation was.
When he runs out of the building two minutes later and the rain hits him straight in the face, Ten yelps and quickly covers his nose. He doesn’t want the water to wash the peck away too soon. It tingles.