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Liam didn't like cats. It's not that he hated them or anything, it's just that he didn't like them, and they didn't seem to like him much, either. When he was younger, and more inclined to like all small animals, cats had often seemed it fit to start scratching and biting mid-pet. At first, Liam had been stubborn, refusing to believe that all cats disliked him, but he had yet to meet a cat that hadn't wounded him in some way. In general, staying away from cats was a good idea when you were Liam Payne.
So when one day there was a small ginger cat sitting in front of Liam's sliding door to the backyard, his first instinct was to make sure it was closed and locked. After satisfying himself that there was no way that the cat was coming in, he got back on the couch to continue reading.
However, it turned out that the cat had no intention of leaving. It just kept sitting there, watching him, making noises every now and then to remind Liam that it was still there. For hours and hours, it wouldn't move.
When the sun was getting lower, Liam finally caved and opened the door to the little thing. It brushed around Liam's feet shortly, before drifting off to the kitchen and making Liam follow after it.
“Who are you then?” Liam asked, petting it a little as it attempted to locate edible things. The cat had no collar and Liam hadn't seen it in the neighbourhood before. He opened his fridge to get out some milk and meat for the little thing and contemplated what to do with the cat.
It seemed friendly enough for now, but Liam knew that would soon be over. Besides, keeping the cat wasn't an option either, because of his mother's severe allergies. Of course, she didn't live here, but having a cat meant effectively cutting off all her visits. No, the cat had to go. He made a resolution to drop it off at the shelter the next morning.
Surprisingly, the cat behaved itself moderately well on the way there. It let Liam carry it in, only attempting to bite his hands three or four times, and didn't even make a fuss when he handed it to the guy at the desk.
“It just appeared in my backyard yesterday,” Liam explained, “and wouldn't leave anymore.”
“You did the right thing bringing her here,” the guy said. “If she has a chip, we'll activate it, and if she belongs to anyone, chances are that the owners will come looking for her here.” While reception-dude was explaining all of this, he was playing around with the cat, making cute faces at it and petting until it purred. “Even if no one claims her, this one's a cutie and I'm sure we'll find her a home soon.”
Liam tried very hard to not be endeared by the guy's interaction with the cat, but failed miserably. It was past time to get out before Liam started behaving strangely, or worse, started flirting. Liam was terrible at flirting. He always ended up being weird and obnoxious instead of mysterious and suave, and he felt no desire to subject this poor innocent man to his antics.
He left his contact details at the shelter – common procedure, desk-dude assured him - thanked the man, shook his hand, left, and that was that.
That was not that.
Two days later, and another cat was sitting right in front of Liam's sliding door. This particular cat was of the calico variant, and a lot less cuddly than it's ginger predecessor. Liam had to wrap his arms in towels in order to prevent himself from getting completely scratched open by the beast on the way to the shelter. Because of course, once again, this cat had no name tag and looked absolutely unfamiliar to Liam. Definitely not a neighbourhood cat.
Desk-dude greeted him with a a wide smile that almost seemed too wide for his face. It was adorable.
“Hi!” he said enthusiastically. “It's not often that we see people twice in as many days!”
“Don't I know it,” Liam said, trying to stop the cat from scratching his face. “This one turned up at my door as well. I think I may have a secret stash of catnip buried there or something.” Desk-dude took the cat from him (which immediately relaxed and let itself be pet, the traitor) and called over a colleague who was walking by to take it away.
“Are you okay?” the guy asked, pointing towards Liam' towel-covered arms.
“Uhm, yeah, I'm fine,” Liam said, unwrapping his arms. “Cats tend to not like me, so I have to take precautions.” The guy gasped when Liam's scratched up skin became visible, big green eyes widening comically.
“That doesn't look fine to me,” he said, face contorting in sympathy. “Come on, I have a first aid kit in the back.”
Liam was about to protest, but the guy was already dragging him along. In a small back room – used for breaks, by the look of the coffee pot on the table and the vending machine in the corner – desk-dude sat Liam down on a chair before going through some cupboards and pulling out a red suitcase with a white cross on it.
“I'm going to disinfect it,” he said, “which will probably sting a bit. It doesn't look deep, so I'm not going to cover it up otherwise, although I would advise popping by first aid for a tetanus shot. Please promise me you will?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye,” Liam said with a giant grin and oh God, it started. The flirting had started, and now there was no way to stop it, Liam knew from experience.
To his surprise, desk-dude actually snorted at the super lame attempt at humour. He was very careful with Liam's arms, so gentle that Liam had no problem imagining that he got along well with all the animals in the shelter. Liam had never been gentle, which probably explained why cats hated him. Careful, yes. Naturally gentle? No.
By the time the guy was done – Liam very proud of himself for not wincing at the goddamn burn of the disinfectant – Liam's arms were tingling all over from the contact.
“Thanks!” He said loudly, jumping up from his chair the moment the guy was done. “We should do it again sometime!”
“No problem,” the guy said, with the sweetest smile, and Liam really really had to get out.
“Right. Well. Yes. I'll see you around!” Liam said, way too cheerful, and started marching towards the door. He was almost safe, when -
“What's your name?” desk-guy asked.
“What?” Liam blurted out.
“I mean... well,” the guy was so polite, it almost came across as shy. It was endearing. “When you left your details, it only said 'L. Payne' and I wondered what the L stands for.”
“Liam,” Liam said before he could think anything of it, and he saw the guy silently repeat it. “What about yours? Quid pro quo, Clarice.” He only just refrained himself from doing the nasty Hannibal tongue-thing.
The guy laughed. “My name's Harry.”
“Harry,” Liam repeated. “Well, it's been a pleasure, Harry. Hope you won't have to see me again.” And with that, he marched out the door back home.
Another three days later found Liam at the shelter again . This time with a long haired menace of a cat that made the previous one seem like a baby. Liam had unceremoniously dumped it in a cardboard box after twenty seconds and at least as many scratches as the last cat gave him in total.
“Harry!” he exclaimed when he walked into the shelter and he saw his favourite desk-dude. “We have got to stop meeting like this!”
Harry smiled widely when Liam walked in with the box. His hair was up in a bun this time, and it looked good on him.
“Nice hairdo,” he commented off-handedly, before heaving the box onto the desk and missing the way that Harry's eyes lit up and how his hand reached up to his hair. This cat was big. And heavy. “I come bringing a demon. Sorry mate, I wish I had better news.”
Harry carefully opened the box, reached inside and took the hell-cat out, which, of course, was purring by the time Harry had it out completely.
“Aww, this wittle kitty wouldn't hurt a fly, would she? Would she?” Harry cooed, scratching the thing behind its ears. Liam was not pleased.
“Say that to my arms,” he said, holding them out for Harry to see. Harry gaped at the new collection of scratches.
“Oh my God, Liam, are you okay?”
“No worries,” Liam said before Harry could say anything else, “I disinfected them myself this time before coming over.” Harry looked almost disappointed which – hey – that was a good thing to find out. At least it appeared that Liam wasn't alone in this kind-of-crush situation.
Harry called a colleague over, a different one than last time, and handed her the cat. She seemed hesitant to take it though.
“Harry, why is Nala back? Didn't you take her out this morning? I thought you were delivering her at a new home,” she asked, and Harry turned very pale very quickly.
“N-no,” he stammered, “you must have Nala confused with another cat.” The girl rolled her eyes.
“Harry, please. We only have one cat with this much hair. And besides, all the other ones are still here. What's going on?” Harry looked from hell-cat – Nala, apparently – to Liam with downright dread on his face. At first, Liam was confused. Why would Harry be so terrified? But then the dots connected, and suddenly he had a very had time not laughing really, really loud.
“It's okay,” Liam managed to get out semi-normal, but his voice was tight with held back laughter. “I asked Harry to bring Nala to me this morning, because I had no time to go out myself. I'm looking for a cat, but as you can see, Nala and I don't get along well,” he said, holding out his arms for Harry's colleague to see. She seemed to accept it, nodded resolutely and slipped out the door.
The moment she left, Liam finally let out the laughter he'd been holding in. Harry looked completely mortified, fully realizing that Liam was aware of what had happened.
“I'm so sorry,” he tried to explain through Liam' fits of giggles, shoulders sagging with the realization of how ridiculous his plan was, “I couldn't think of any other way to know for sure that I'd see you again...”
Liam had to take a moment to control his glee.
“It's okay,” he said. “It really is.” Harry relaxed a bit, even though he still looked uncomfortable.
“Just,” Liam continued, finally regaining control over his vocal chords, “next time, instead of stealing cats from a shelter, just ask me out for dinner, okay?”
Harry smiled, face still red with a bit of embarrassment.
“Okay,” he sad softly.