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Mort sighed to himself before stepping through the open doors to the Marigold Room. This was the first time in a while that Mort was going to Marigold and he couldn’t say he'd been looking forward to it. In fact, he'd been dreading it, but he knew he didn’t have much of a choice other than participating. Spending Christmas with Sin and spending a few days on his family farm in Tennessee had been a wonderful break for Mort. But alas, here he was.
He'd turned up in his usual outfit; black pants, black shoes, blue vest and jacket, white shirt and of course the red neck tie. Carrying his warm winter coat, Mort still felt as out of place as ever as he stepped into the beautiful, packed party room.
Tonight it had been specially decorated for the New Year’s party; colorful balloons, paper decorations, tables set with what looked like glittery confetti strewn across the white tablecloths. Above the stage, large fabric banners hung on the wall. They were beautifully made, looking almost like draping curtains. They were dark red with bright, golden accents. Both 1927 and 1928 were written on them in similarly golden letters that were quite big and easily legible from a distance.
The band was up on stage and thankfully their singer didn’t appear to have missed the show. Mort always made sure to check for that whenever he turned up. He'd been bullied into going on stage once and that was one time too many for his liking.
The ballroom was already packed, so many people having shown up. Like Mort, many wore the signature orange flower pin that Marigold members usually did. As usual, Mort also felt rather underdressed when compared to everyone around him – even the wait staff seemed better dressed than him.
After a waiter handed Mort a sparkling welcome drink, he wandered the party room, sticking to the edges of it, like he so often did. He didn’t know if Sin was turning up tonight, seeing as the older grave-keeper hadn't made it clear if he would or not. Mort hadn't had a chance to see him after he got back from the Blakely family farm, but with any luck, he just might show up in the night.
Despite himself, Mort still wished Sin were around to spend time with. It had made for a wonderful Christmas with the older cat and he’d even felt hesitant to eventually leave his home. Of course, Mort knew he couldn’t just hang around Sin’s home indefinitely. But as soon as he’d left, Mort found himself missing the Oriental Longhair, thinking about him constantly…
Mort had tried his best not to, given that he’d decided he wasn't going to think of Sin that way… or too much in general. After all, there was no good pining for things that couldn’t be.
But for now, however, Mort had his sights set on a different man.
Mr. Sweet had turned up in a black tuxedo and looked like he fit in far better than Mort – as per usual. It was to be expected, really. Mort stopped, watching the golden-furred cat from a distance momentarily. He drew in a quick breath and exhaled, before bee-lining straight for Mr. Sweet. Perhaps if he said hello to him early, he’d leave him alone for the rest of the night… Mort thought it might be best to rip the band-aid off early instead of his usual tactic of attempting to avoid Mr. Sweet all night.
“Ah, Mr. Morrison!” Mr. Sweet announced loudly as soon as Mort was within his line of sight. He beamed at the Siamese cat, who was starting to very much regret the decision to approach his boss. Thankfully, Mr. Sweet wasn’t currently talking to anyone – at least that meant that he wasn't going to parade him around… for the moment.
“Good evening, Mr. Sweet,” Mort greeted his boss, smile slightly forced. He hadn't forgotten how Nicodeme had let it slip that he was most likely being watched at all times by Marigold. That unsettling fact alone was enough to make Mort all the more scared of not acting personable around Mr. Sweet. “Did you have a pleasant Christmas?”
“Oh, I did – not as exciting as yours, however, isn't that right?” he asked with a wink. He gave Mort's hand a firm, but brief shake, almost making the Siamese cat drop his drink. Once Mr. Sweet let go of his hand, Mort took a sip of his welcome drink. Champagne. Not bad, but not what he'd normally go for either. It had to be in high demand. Mort was surprised Mr. Sweet would bring that out for a welcome drink, but perhaps that was a show of power more than anything. “Heard you were snowed in with old Chezk.”
“Yeah, that’s right…” Once again, Mort had to force a smile, he even forced out an awkward chuckle. He cleared his throat. “It was a pleasant one – just not your traditional kind.”
“Trust me, kid, ain’t nothing traditional about the two of you,” Mr. Sweet chortled, before he lit a cigar, much to Mort's dismay. He didn’t like the smell of them, partially because they reminded him of Mr. Sweet.
“Uh… right. So, the place really got spruced up, huh, Sir?” Mr. Sweet looked at Mort curiously, seemingly taken aback by his attempts at being talkative. Mort himself started to fear that he had indeed taken the wrong approach.
“Very much so, son. Come now, the night is young and there are drinks to be had!” Before Mort could even get a word in, he felt the familiar feeling of Mr. Sweet putting an arm around him and guiding him along. And additionally, Mort felt his heart sinking, yet another feeling he was familiar with by now.
“Oh, really, Mr. Sweet, I haven’t even finished my-”
“So, you came alone, eh? Did the decrepit, old bat not feel like taking you here?” For the first time in quite a while, Mort felt anger welling up inside him, hearing Mr. Sweet talking about Sin like that. He could feel his cheeks burning under his fur and being this close to the smoking older cat made him feel even more sick that usual. Mr. Sweet normally never talked about Sin, and although he'd heard his boss refer to the Oriental Longhair in a similar manner before, that was so long ago now. Hearing him call Sin a ‘decrepit old bat’ made Mort's fur stand on end.
“He didn’t say,” Mort replied, forcing his tone to be calmer than he was feeling at the moment. He still felt the burning in his cheeks, but tried his best to calm himself. He did, however, clutch his champagne glass a bit tighter than he normally would. Mort sipped some of the champagne, hoping the alcohol might calm his nerves as he tried to think peaceful thoughts.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Morrison, I’ll make sure you don’t feel lonely,” the older cat promised Mort, although this was far from a reassuring thought. If anything, Mort would much rather be left alone at this party than be in the company of his boss. He knew exactly how things could and would escalate as the night went on.
It was still so early; it wouldn’t be a new year for another couple of hours and Mort was already worried about what that would mean for him. As Mr. Sweet guided him up to the bar, however, Mort simply took a seat on one of the stools. Mercifully, Mr. Sweet started chatting up the bartender, the same bartender Mort had come to expect by now, though he didn’t know his name. Averting his attention from his boss, Mort sipped his drink and cast another glance around the Marigold Room. The packed party room was quite noisy, and especially over by the craps tables where people were playing, Mort noticed quite a small crowd of people loudly observing and playing. He'd never partaken in gambling, nor did he have any desire to, though he had to admit the excited mood all the participants seemed to be in was rather enticing.
“Time to look alive, Mr. Morrison, we’ve got company!” The patting of his back nearly made Mort knock over his drink, before he looked over in Mr. Sweet’s direction. Still feeling rather annoyed with his boss, Mort simply remained silent. He sighed quietly, before he finished his drink. Putting the glass down on the bar, he rose to his feet and braced himself for an unbearable amount of attention to be put on him.
“Alright, Mr. Sweet, I’m-” Mort didn’t get to finish his sentence before Mr. Sweet pushed a new drink into his hand. Mort stared down at the dark brownish orange cocktail in a coupe glass. “… Oh, thank you, Sir… You shouldn’t have…”
Mr. Sweet shot Mort a grin and nudged his head towards a small group of approaching men, signaling for him to follow. Pursing his lips for a moment, Mort knew he had brought this upon himself and followed slowly. The quartet of men approaching were all dressed similarly to Mr. Sweet and it was times like these where Mort felt the most self-conscious about the way he dressed.
Mort hung back slightly, sipping the sweet drink that he instantly recognized as a Bee’s Knees. He'd had that before and he liked the flavor of it quite a bit. It didn’t taste as strongly of alcohol as some of the other things he'd had, though Mort wished he'd gotten a chance to pace himself with some water.
As Mr. Sweet went over the usual charades that involved loudly greeting each guest and shaking their hand, Mort hung back slightly, though he too got a chance to greet them. He'd recognized a few of them, though he hadn't been able to recall what their names were until Mr. Sweet greeted each of them. And much to Mort's dismay, they remembered him – or rather, they remembered Blaine Morrison.
“Mr. Morrison, I’ve been meaning to ask you…” A stout, older, gray cat was the one speaking and already Mort felt his heart sinking as he recognized him. He was one of the few faces Mort remembered interacting with before. He was dressed in a tuxedo that looked like it had been made yesterday, so shiny, clean and smooth, and he even wore a black top hat as well.
“Yes, Mr. Church?” He didn’t exactly look very approachable to Mort, in part thanks to the almost disinterested look he'd had on his face until he addressed Mort directly. Edmund Church’s gleaming yellow eyes met Mort's, quite an intense look, but Mort tried his best to maintain eye-contact. Mort's instinct would normally be to avert his gaze, but he held Mr. Church’s gaze as well as he could.
“How’d it all start? Is your show Marigold’s doing?” Mercifully the older cat was ushering Mort off to the side away from Mr. Sweet, who was deep in conversation with a few of his guests. “I didn’t want to assume, but with how Mr. Sweet always seems so… proud of you… Are you family?”
“No,” Mort responded so quickly it made the older cat raise an eyebrow. He had his head tilted up slightly to look down at Mort past his nose in a way the younger cat didn’t like. Mort took a sip of his drink before he continued, “I mean, it’s just your-… well, I suppose it is an atypical form of employment, but we not the familial.”
Mr. Church looked at Mort curiously. Perhaps his usage of big words wasn't quite as natural-sounding as Mort had hoped. The older cat didn’t look very impressed, but nevertheless he continued. “Anyway… Just how much freedom and control do you have in regards to your radio shows?”
“Oh, I control just about everything, Mr. Church,” Mort replied cautiously. He wasn’t at all sure where Mr. Church was going with this, nor was he sure he wanted to know. “Well, that’s not entirely true. I do need to make sure the program is acceptable to broadcast. Can’t go on the air and say… inappropriate things, now can I? Oh, and Mr. Sweet gives me some... directions and such too…”
The younger cat chuckled lightly, though Mr. Church remained silent. Once Mort trailed off and took another sip of his Bee’s Knees, the gray cat continued. “And what are the odds that someone could influence your broadcast a bit? For a price, of course.”
Mort nearly choked on his drink, but he managed to keep it down. He cleared his throat slightly. “Well, uhm… I don’t really know if that’s appropriate, sir. I would need to talk to Mr. Sweet about-”
“But perhaps Mr. Sweet doesn’t need to know? You do make his… involvement sound a bit minimal…” Mr. Church was fixing Mort with an interest that wasn't unlike the kind Mr. Sweet’s guests usually had when he was introduced to them as Blaine Morrison. It was also a sort of interest that Mr. Sweet had regarded Mort with the first time they’d met. And he didn’t like it one bit.
“Well…” Mort found himself hesitating as he thought it all over. It certainly had been the first time anyone had ever asked him something of this nature and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it. For one, he hadn't even the faintest clue what on Earth Mr. Church might want him to talk about. He didn’t want him to use his reach to manipulate people… right? “I don’t know if that’s really a decision I feel ready to make at the moment. Perhaps we can discuss it in detail in the new year?”
“We can discuss it now too.” Mr. Church sounded impatient and the way he looked at him told Mort that it was his way or the highway. He raised an eyebrow as he stared into Mort's eyes.
“Mr. Morrison, Mr. Church!” Mort gave a start, before both of them turned to look at Mr. Sweet who beckoned them over. “Come now, let’s have a seat, gentlemen.”
For the first time in his life, Mort felt relief from being called over by Mr. Sweet and it was a strange thing for him. He didn’t much like it, but he could tell Mr. Church was quite displeased by the interruption. “Very well, Mr. Sweet.”
feeling surprisingly relieved, Mort made for the table that Mr. Sweet gestured towards. It was located off to the left side of the room and Mort already had a feeling that it was going to be another bit of Mr. Sweet showing him off. However, all things considered, it might be preferable to talking business with Mr. Church. However, before Mort was even seated, he felt a hand on his side, something being slipped into his jacket pocket while Mr. Sweet wasn't looking.
“For later,” Mr. Church simply told him in a hushed tone before he moved past him with fast, dignified strides and took a seat opposite to Mr. Sweet. Reaching into his pocket, Mort felt around and found what he guessed to be a business card, his soft fingers brushing the textured paper. He pulled his hand back out and made for the table, already having a bad feeling about this. Was Mr. Church expecting him to call him…?
Mort wasn't given much of a choice in seating arrangements; Mr. Sweet had pulled out the chair to his right and the older cat was fixing him with a look of intent. He was smirking at Mort, looking like he was already planning out how to give the Siamese cat a miserable time. Reluctantly, Mort made his way over and put his winter jacket on the backrest, knowing he'd best get it over with.
Seated on Mr. Sweet’s right side, Mort felt all eyes on him momentarily. It was like a sixth sense; even without looking, he was always so hyper-aware of when people were staring at him – and it was the worst feeling he knew. Mort took another big sip of his Bee’s Knees as everyone got seated, Mr. Church still fixing Mort with that peculiar look of intent, almost a warning look.
“Now, gentlemen, hopefully your Christmases went smoother than the kid here.” Mort grunted as Mr. Sweet clapped a hand to his shoulder. The golden-furred cat chortled. “Young Mr. Morrison here got snowed in – had to send one of my men over to dig him out!”
“Now, Mr. Sweet, that’s no joking matter,” an old ginger cat on Mr. Sweet’s other side told him, though most of the guests around the table seemed somewhat amused. Mort was just happy that someone diverted Mr. Sweet’s attention. He raised his coupe glass to sip, but found he’d already finished the sweet drink.
“Oh, I’m not joking – I’m glad to have my favorite radio- oh, you’re without a drink, young Morrison. Where are my manners!” Before Mort had even fully realized that Mr. Sweet’s attention was back on him, the older at beckoned a waiter to their table. “Drinks, gentlemen!”
While the other guests who had finished their welcome drinks ordered for themselves, Mort hesitated. He was already feeling a mild headache that he knew to be from the alcohol. When it was his turn, he vaguely placed an order for “something mild.”
“Oh, no need to be shy, son – tonight’s New Year’s. What better time to get a little adventurous?” Mr. Sweet asked, nudging Mort with his elbow, chuckling. “Just consider your drinks to be on me tonight.”
Mort didn’t stand a chance.
Mr. Sweet ordered drink after drink for him and everyone at the table, though somehow none of them seemed to be drinking as fast as he was. Each drink he got tasted so good, most of them were sweet and sugary. They’d clearly been mixed quite well as they didn’t taste a lot like alcohol, the harsh taste very well-disguised.
Mort never even noticed how he was starting to slouch over the table; never noticed that he was laughing the loudest at Mr. Sweet’s jokes, even the ones at his expense.
It was only when the room started spinning that Mort was starting to realize that perhaps he might have overindulged.
“Easy there, son. Seems I might’ve given you one too many!” Mort looked at Mr. Sweet. He could hear the older man’s voice, but it sounded strangely disembodied from his mouth. His lips were seemingly not moving in sync with how Mort heard his words. Mort also found himself struggling to focus on the golden cat’s face.
“I- uhhhh… yeah, where time- what time is it?” Mort heard Mr. Sweet’s barking laughter, which sounded similarly distant.
“It’s not even midnight yet, kid!” Mr. Sweet practically roared at him, laughing. Mort's blue-eyed gaze traveled around the table, looking over the other men there. They all seemed perfectly fine, a few had had quite a few drinks, but mostly they were all engaged in their own conversations. And a few appeared strangely out of focus. Mr. Church had seemingly disappeared, however.
Seeing Mort seated next to Mr. Sweet was in itself not a very reassuring sight, but seeing the way the Siamese cat was slouched over the table was downright worrying. Sin approached the table silently when Mr. Sweet beckoned him over from a distance.
Sin wasn't even entirely sure why he'd bothered showing up. Perhaps a sense of obligation, perhaps knowing that Mort would likely be here and in need of assistance dealing with his boss. Based on what Sin was seeing so far, he was correct.
The old grave-keeper had shown up in his usual wear; all black, mozzetta included, though he also wore thick boots for once, as well as a thick winter coat. Icy blue eyes wandered over the table in front of Mort where several empty glasses stood. Sin glared at Mr. Sweet, who just grinned from ear to ear.
“Look who showed up, kiddo!” Mr. Sweet rose to his feet and pulled Mort up with him, the younger cat barely able to stand on his own two feet as he nearly stumbled into Mr. Sweet. The Maribel night manager roared with laughter as Mort steadied himself against him. Sin didn’t know why, but seeing Mort that close to Mr. Sweet filled him with a kind of anger he'd never experienced before. It was a sight that made him sick. “Easy there, don’t want him to get the wrong idea. Mr. Chezk, I believe this belongs to you.”
Before Sin could even contemplate whatever Mr. Sweet meant by that, the golden cat urged Mort forward towards Sin. When Mort fell, Sin was thankfully fast enough to catch him. The Siamese cat was pure dead weight in Sin’s arms as he held him up. His eyes were out of focus as he gazed upon Sin.
“Oh, Sin! Siiiiiin, it’s you! No, you can’t be here, I’m- I… uh… I forgot…” Mort almost groaned once he’d noticed Sin. His speech was slow, slurred and almost incoherent. Sin glared at Mr. Sweet yet again.
“How much did you give him?” the Oriental Longhair asked angrily, icy eyes boring into the green ones. “The boy can barely stand up!”
“Oh, I made sure he never missed a drink, don’t you worry. Might need to help him get home, I doubt he’ll last the night,” Mr. Sweet said casually, before he lit himself another cigar. Sin cast a scornful look over the assembled party, all of whom seemed like Mort ending up in his state had barely been a mild inconvenience to them. “Maybe you should take him home and tuck him in.”
Without even answering, Sin grabbed Mort’s coat and threw it over his shoulder. The older cat turned away as he began to help Mort towards the door. On the way, he spotted several other drunk party-goers, though none seemed quite as far gone as Mort. “What were you thinking?”
“I don’t know, I thought you liked me.” Mort's statement caught Sin completely off-guard. His response seemed completely unrelated to what Sin had meant by his rhetorical question. As the two got through the door and past the doormen, Sin realized he couldn’t just pull a drunken Mort out into the street without attracting unwanted attention.
He knew the Maribel Hotel well enough to know it would be safer to take the backdoor. He helped Mort get his coat on before they exited, which was thankfully rather easy.
“I’m sorry.” Before Sin could even begin to ponder what Mort was sorry for, he heard the younger cat start to sniffle. Was he… was he crying? “I’m so sorrr- ugh… I’m s-sorry, Sin, I don’t want you to hate meeeee…”
Sin stared at the younger cat in his arms, guiding along the hallway like he was injured. Mort's feet didn’t seem steady, but the young cat managed to walk decently, though he needed some assistance. Sin could tell he would've never made it home alone.
Mort wasn't himself, obviously. Sin thought it best to not respond as he guided the younger cat out of the hotel in silence. The more he responded, the more Mort was likely to drunkenly ramble. It wasn't something he needed right now. What he needed was to get him home and get him into bed. Luckily, Sin remembered where Mort lived, having walked him home once before on the night they'd met.
“Please, Mort, be quiet. Just follow me,” Sin whispered gently to him as they made their way out of the alley that led to the back of the hotel. To Sin’s relief, the street was mostly empty in front of the Maribel, though not far away, they could already see other party-goers moving to and fro in small groups. Sin stuck close to the buildings on their way. The street still had the remnants of the heavy snowfall, though it wasn’t anywhere near as bad as it had been during Christmas, thankfully.
“Oh, it’s so cold in here…” Mort shuddered, seemingly not even realizing that they were outside. Sin didn’t say a word; all that mattered right now was that he got the younger cat home safely. “Sin?”
Looking down at Mort, their eyes met. To Sin’s surprise, Mort had a sad, almost distraught look on his face. In a gentle, hushed tone, the older cat simply asked, “What’s wrong?”
The younger cat said nothing, simply looking ahead, moving with Sin with more ease than earlier. Sin hadn’t a clue what that was about, but he still helped the Siamese cat along, walking down the sidewalk towards the block where his home was. Upon arriving, Sin took the liberty of reaching into Mort's pocket to find his key, unlocking the door for Mort and allowing the two of them to step inside.
“What floor do you live on?” Sin asked, realizing he had never actually asked this. Sin slipped the key back into Mort's pocket now that they were back inside.
“Top… top, the very, very top, Sin…” the younger cat responded, speech getting progressively slurred. Sin had barely helped Mort up the first few steps before the Siamese cat started to stumble again. Sin could tell this was going to be an issue already. Without hesitating, he scooped Mort up into his arms and carried him up the steps. Though the short cat was rather easy to lift, Sin was luckily stronger than he looked, even if he hadn't been. “Oh… I’m flying…”
Sin gave the younger cat a look, but said nothing as he carried him bridal style. This was unusual, but Mort seemed almost amused. Sin made it to the top floor in no time at all, at which point he put Mort down. Sin had barely let go of Mort before the younger cat’s face made contact with his front door. The stairwell was dark and so was each landing.
“Are you alright?” Sin asked once he got Mort to stand upright. He was still stumbling and Sin let him lean against him, head against his chest.
“No… no, no, I’m Mort,” the young cat said, voice sounding slurred again.
“Well, Mort… I’m going to need you to unlock your door…” The young cat did just that. Or rather, he attempted to do so. Sin stood by and watched Mort fumble for his keys for a moment, hands searching each pocket, before he came up with a key for his door. And after that, Mort fumbled to get the key into the keyhole. After several failed attempts, Sin put his right hand around Mort's wrist and helped the younger cat get the door unlocked.
Mort stumbled forward as he failed to clear the doorway, but Sin didn’t let him fall face-first onto the floor. Sin could tell this was going to be an issue; he couldn’t just leave Mort to fend for himself. The older cat sighed and flicked the light-switch by the door to illuminate the small apartment.
Sin hadn't been in Mort's apartment before, but he knew now wasn't the time to look around; Mort required his full attention. He helped get the younger cat’s winter coat off, which in itself wasn't too difficult, but Sin knew that getting him further undressed would be complicated at best. And not exactly something he wished to be around for. But what choice did he have? He knew Mort wouldn't just leave him to help himself, had he been in his place.
Once Sin had gotten Mort down to his dress shirt and pants, he moved the young cat to his couch and sat him down. He likewise got his shoes off no problem, thankfully. “Oh Siiiiiiiiiiin…”
The older cat glanced up inquisitively, blue eyes meeting. “Yes, Mort?”
Mort looked down at him from the couch, looking dazed. “Can I see your little nubbin’?”
“MY WHAT?!”
Mort pointed at Sin’s right hand, or at least tried to. The younger cat let out a soft little laugh. “Your nubbin’, Sin. There, on your haaaaand…!”
The Oriental Longhair stared at Mort, mouth slightly agape. He squinted, before he looked down at his right hand and quickly realized what the younger cat was talking about. Saying nothing, Sin simply just sighed and stood up, holding his hand out towards Mort. The younger cat took a hold of Sin’s hand and brought it up to his face, fingers almost touching his cheeks.
Sin stared at the younger cat as he seemed to inspect the stump where his finger used to be. He held Sin’s hand with his right and his left moved in closer, catching the stump between his thumb and index finger.
“Oh, look, it is a little nubbin’! Siiiin… oh… oh. Oh, Sin…” Mort let go of Sin’s hand and before Sin could even ask questions he laid back against the couch. He frowned in a very exaggerated way. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Sin…”
“Oh. That's quite alright, Mort.” The apology was unexpected, but the drunk cat was looking quite sorry, as if it truly hurt him to have done such a thing. Sin hesitated where he stood. “You need help getting into bed?”
“I’m fine, I’m fiiiine,” Mort insisted, though when he rose he almost stumbled again. Sin made room for him, though he still watched him cautiously, ready to steady him if he had to. He noticed that Mort was frowning and looking quite sad.
“Are you sure? Is something wrong? Mr. Sweet wasn't too nasty to you tonight, was he?” Sin asked suspiciously. He already knew how Mr. Sweet tended to treat the young radio host. He'd seen it first hand and he knew that Mort wasn't one to stand up for himself.
Mort didn’t respond, instead he stumbled towards his bed as he unbuttoned his shirt. Sin respectfully averted his gaze and headed for the door. He could hear the shuffling of clothes as Mort undressed himself. “Alright, you sleep well, Mort. I’d best head home. I wish I could've shown up sooner to prevent all this-”
“NO!” Sin gave a light start, but turned to look at Mort. The younger cat had managed to crawl into bed, pulling the blanket up over him. He had a single bare arm stretched out, hand reaching towards Sin. The dark gray fur on Mort's hand extended all the way up to his elbow. “Sin, please, I’m sorry, please don’t leave me! I can’t help it! I’m so sorry!”
Mort started crying – actually crying – and his slurred speech didn’t exactly make it easier to understand what he was saying. He was rambling and he sounded quite incoherent. Sin stared in shock, eyes wide in shock. He'd reached for the doorknob when Mort called out to him, but now… “What’s wrong?”
The younger cat didn’t respond, he was sobbing loudly as he sat up in bed, pushing the blanket off of his upper torso. He buried his face in his hands and cried. Sin didn’t move an inch, he just watched him. He didn’t like how seeing Mort crying made him feel, and slowly he stepped closer to the smaller cat. Icy blue eyes looked at him carefully.
Sin stopped by the young cat’s bedside and stared down at him. Carefully, Sin reached down, gently stroking his shoulder and upper back with his left hand. “Mort?”
The older cat reluctantly knelt by Mort's bed and looked at him cautiously at which point the young cat threw himself at Sin. He pressed his face against Sin’s chest and kept sobbing. “Please…! I don’t want to lose you, Sin!”
Sin stared in surprise, tensing up completely. He hadn't the faintest clue how to handle this situation; he never really had anyone to comfort, nor did anyone usually comfort him, at least not since his grandfather passed away. His grandfather… Sin remembered how he used to comfort him. He gently placed his left hand on top of Mort's head, gently stroking from the top down to right above his neck and then gently patted him twice on the head.
“I’m not- I was just going home, Mort,” Sin tried to reassure the crying cat.
“No, you don’t, you wouldn't- Please, Sin, I don’t want you to hate me…” Mort cried into Sin’s chest. He could feel tears wetting his clothes and Mort didn’t seem at all close to stopping. Sin supposed it was just the alcohol clouding his judgment, making his emotions act up. Mort finally fell silent and just sobbed soundlessly against Sin, his small, lithe form shaking.
“Easy…” Sin tried his very best to use a soothing, calming voice, but Mort didn’t seem to react much – he just continued to silently sob. “Uh… uhm… There, there…”
Mort pulled back and wiped his eyes, before he laid down again, pulling the covers over himself again. He still looked miserable, but he had stopped crying. “Please, Sin, I don’t want you to hate me…”
“I don’t hate you, Mort,” Sin simply told him, staring down at the younger cat. “Why would you say that? I would never hate you.”
This statement didn’t seem to bring Mort much comfort as he loudly sniffled. “But you would and I can’t and I need-… I want-”
“… rest,” Sin told him, before he rose to his full height. He offered the smallest of reassuring smiles. “You need rest. We can talk tomorrow – I’ll come check on you. I don’t hate you Mort, you're my closest – my only friend. I would never. You rest well, Mort.”
The old grave-keeper offered Mort one last smile, before crossing to the door. He turned the lights off, casting Mort's living space into darkness. He opened the door and stepped out onto the landing. But before the door swung fully closed, Sin heard Mort’s voice, sounding shaky, nervous, scared. “Wait… Sin, I love you…”
Left by himself on the third floor landing, Sin clutched the doorknob. He stared at the closed door. Mort's words continued to ring through Sin’s head. What did he mean by that? Sin pushed the door open again and peered into the darkness. “Mort?”
He got no response. All Sin heard was faint snoring, telling him that Mort must have fallen asleep almost instantly as soon as the door was closed. A small, very small part of Sin wanted to wake Mort and ask him to explain himself, but… he knew the young cat needed rest and to sleep off the effects of the alcohol.
But… even so, as Sin descended the stairs, he couldn’t think of what Mort had meant. Did he mean that he appreciated him? Cared for him? Wasn't that what friendship would usually entail? As Sin walked down the stairs, he kept pondering it all to himself, but… it couldn’t be all there was to it, right? Mort had seemed so distraught, so scared… Why would saying he cared for him as a friend scare the young cat so much? It didn’t make any sense to Sin.
Once he stepped out into the darkened street, Sin cast a last glance up the tall building towards where he knew Mort's apartment to be. He loved him…? Still, he couldn’t help but ponder exactly what that meant as he made his way back towards the Maribel Hotel. It was getting close to midnight and already fireworks in the sky briefly illuminated the streets, and Sin could hear the noise they created. He wanted to get out of the city before the ball dropped. There was no point in staying behind for all that now that he'd put Mort to bed.
The ride home was cold, but Sin barely noticed. His mind was racing with a million questions about Mort and the nature of his statement. Did he mean… in a romantic way?
No, surely not, Sin told himself. A man loving another man? That was… He'd never heard of such a thing and that couldn’t be right.
Or could it?
Mort had been crying, saying he didn’t want Sin to hate him. Sin remembered a single sentence in his mind as the small buggy took him out of town. The horse didn’t seem fond of the fireworks either, but Sin made sure to keep the large equine under control.
You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination. Sin remembered just about everything from the Bible, as he’d been brought up on it all. He thought about Mort, the way he was crying, clinging to him, begging and rambling. Was this truly the reason? Did he want to-
The old grave-keeper gripped the reigns particularly tightly as he couldn’t help but feel pity for Mort. If he truly loved him that way… If Mort truly had feelings of that nature for him... Was that why he'd been so keen on spending more time with him? Sin’s mind wandered back to the Christmas they'd spent together in close quarters all alone. They'd spent time huddled up on the couch together… Sin had never been this close to someone else, physically or otherwise.
Sin shook his head.
No, they weren't… He wasn't… but was Mort…?
Crossing the bridge that took him out of the city, the old cat frowned. He'd had someone confess their feelings for him exactly once… a lifetime ago in his youth… but never another man. He looked up at the clear night sky for a moment, watching the stars. Would Mort even remember any of this in the morning? Perhaps the best solution was to just… act like nothing happened. Maybe it was all down to Mort being drunk. Perhaps he truly meant it in a friendly way, he’d just said it in a strange way.
Yeah, maybe that was it.
Sin rubbed his chin. But… why would he be scared of losing Sin, or Sin hating him then? He frowned. He didn’t hate Mort; he couldn’t hate Mort. Sin knew it was against the beliefs that had filled his life, but… he could still be friends with Mort, if Mort happened to have such feelings for him, couldn’t he?
Taking the buggy out to the farm near his home, Sin knew his way around well enough to get the horse back into the stables and from there, he would simply walk home alone. He couldn’t wait to get his awful boots off.
Trudging through the snow, Sin stared down at the ground, thinking things over… over and over. Mort was an important presence in Sin’s life these days, but… they weren't lovers – they couldn’t be lovers.
“Getting close with young Mr. Blakely, are we?”
“I didn’t realize you had a soft spot for boys like him.”
“Easy there, don’t want him to get the wrong idea. Mr. Chezk, I believe this belongs to you.”
Words uttered by Mr. Sweet rang through Sin’s mind. Did they really give off the impression that they were… an item? Sin stopped in his tracks momentarily. He wasn't- Mort wasn't- The two of them were close, certainly, Sin felt a need to look out for Mort. The two of them had grown quite close in the past few months of knowing one another, but… this was a strange, new development. Sin wasn't at all sure what to think of it all or what to do about it.
Even when Sin reached his home, he still had a cacophony of thoughts racing through his mind. He felt like his head was about to burst. How could such a short, brief sentence cause him so much confusion? What would normally be a very simple statement had Sin pondering about the nature of his and Mort’s relationship, the nature of each of them as people. As Sin got himself into bed, he didn’t know how he'd find rest. He'd promised to come and check on Mort the day after, but… would he remember that promise? Would he perhaps be better left alone?
Sin didn’t want to back out of a promise like that, nor did he want to let Mort down in case he did remember. But all the same, Sin didn’t know how he'd handle seeing Mort again after such a revelation. Mort in his drunken state had been so miserable and Sin didn’t ever want to see the Siamese cat like that again. Hopefully he'd be more careful around with drinks from now on. He wanted to resume their normalcy together. He didn’t want things to change, but…
As he stared up at the ceiling above his bed, Sin finally thought to ask himself how he truly felt. Folding his hands over his chest, he closed his eyes. How did he feel about Mort? He didn’t know. Mort was a dear and close friend to him. He enjoyed spending time with the young cat, but was it love? No… it couldn’t be love. It wasn't love. Sin knew he'd never had interest in anyone, nor did he expect that to change anytime soon.
But you missed him when he was away, a small voice in the back of Sin’s mind told him. Sin opened his eyes again, staring up at the ceiling yet again. He knew that much was true and it was no use lying to himself. But of course he ought to miss the person he considered to be his closest friend.
Sin wasn't sure how long he laid awake for, but he eventually managed to let sleep take him. When he woke, however, he didn’t feel too rested, the older cat having had an uneasy sleep for once. But he didn’t let it bother him any. He stayed in for a while, getting his bearings. He remembered everything from the previous night, every thought he himself had had and everything that was still a mystery to him.
The Oriental Longhair didn’t leave his home until the sun had come up, traveling back into town on the buggy he'd ridden the previous night. It was in the middle of the day and yet the city appeared strangely subdued, though Sin knew why, people had been out partying last night; naturally most of them were staying in today, especially those who had indulged in less than legal activities.
Sin ascended the stairs to Mort's apartment on his own, though halfway up the stairs, Sin was starting to reconsider. Was this the right thing to do? Would he be able to look at Mort the same way? He wouldn't just abandon Mort, of course, but… maybe giving the young cat some space might be good.
Shaking his head, the grave-keeper made his way up to knock on the door to Mort's apartment. He could hear movement from the inside before the door finally slid open very, very slowly. The familiar blue eyes peered out at Sin, though Mort was squinting at him. “Sin…? What're you doing here?”
Surprised by this statement, Sin simply stared at Mort. “Oh, I just wanted to check on you… How are you feeling?”
“Uh… I don’t feel good,” Mort admitted as he slid the door open. He was clad in a set of light, pastel blue pajamas, which Sin was sure he'd put on after waking up; there was no way he'd managed to get into those the previous night. “Oh… happy New Year, I guess. I was hoping you'd show up last night. you always do make Marigold parties a bit more bearable.”
“Oh. Well… I did get there in time to walk you home,” Sin admitted, surprised that Mort didn’t remember at all. How much did he remember exactly?
“You did? Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t really remember… well, anything really,” the Siamese cat said, frowning a bit as he stepped aside. “Do you want to come in? I don’t know if I’ll be much fun today, but-”
“Oh, no, that’s fine, Mort. I just wanted to come check on you – I promised you that much last night…” Sin fell silent yet again and looked at Mort cautiously. He stroked his own fluffy chin as he looked down at the smaller male. “I’m glad you’re up and moving. Maybe rest today, Mort. I-”
“… What?” Mort asked after Sin trailed off. Sin stood in silence. He wanted to say something, ask about everything, but… he didn’t want to prevent Mort from resting or to add any unnecessary stress to the hungover younger cat.
“Nothing at all. I’ll see you again, soon, Mort. I promise.” Sin stepped forward and gave the young cat a hug for the first time, slender arms wrapped around his slender little frame. When Sin let go and pulled back, he noticed the small cat’s surprised face, and he couldn’t help but smile.
However, as soon as the door slid closed, Sin’s smile faded, before he frowned. He shouldn’t have done that… He felt a strong, immediate regret for having given Mort a hug. He wanted to show the young cat that he appreciated him, let it be known that he wasn't currently at a risk of losing him. But as Sin walked down the stairs, he realized that he might be sending Mort mixed signals.
He closed his eyes at the foot of the stairs and inwardly swore at himself.
No, he couldn’t do this to Mort. The young cat deserved better. Sin felt irresponsible for fanning the flames of what was likely confusing feelings for Mort. Maybe… maybe he'd best leave him be for a while… Surely, it would pass, right?
