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A TV in the top right corner of the room was displaying some sort of genial kids movie that very few children were actually paying attention to. The small waiting room was littered with toys, both dental themed and not. There were colorful stickers slapped on every inch of the walls, barely showing a hint of the dark beige color underneath. A trio of children play raucously in the corner, wrestling and yelling.
Beside Narinder, looking almost small in his chair, was Aym. The young cat pressed himself deep into the cushioning of a dark blue chair. He’d been told by the twins’ social worker that Aym was afraid of going to the dentist. Considering the boy’s usual behavior, the idea sounded false, if a little ridiculous when the rooster had informed him of it. Nonetheless he had shrugged and kept the comment in mind.
Now with an unusually withdrawn ball of black fur to his right, he’s starting to finally realize how much he’s actually bitten off by taking them in. A pediatric dentist office probably isn’t the best place to begin having delayed and intense panicked thoughts about his somewhat newly minted status as the guardian of two young kits. But here he is, always impressing.
Wait. Hold on.
Narinder sat up straighter and glanced to his left, away from the anxious boy on his right to meet an empty chair.
Baal is gone.
He curses under his breath, glances at Aym and decides immediately that telling the already stressed kitten that his brother is missing—
No, not missing. Just… not currently within eyesight. Anyway, it wouldn’t be a good idea. So as calmly as he can, Narinder gets out of his chair and crouches down in front of Aym.
“I’m going to the bathroom.”
The kit glanced up at his words, scarred eye moving sluggishly. Aym hesitated for a moment, looking as if he were going to speak, but just nodded. Part of Narinder wanted to sigh, he’s had the two of them for just a little over a few months now and was still struggling to get them to be more comfortable around him. They have relaxed somewhat now, calling him Narinder instead of Mr. Bishop like they had when he had first adopted them. Although the progress would have been slow to some people, Narinder was patient.
With a soft grunt that was more to see the small curl of Aym’s lip than to actually express any kind of pain, Narinder pushed himself off the ground.
“Come find me or talk to the nice lady at the front desk if you need help or get scared, okay?” It had felt weird in the beginning to refer to people he didn’t know as nice or helpful. But he soon realized it helped the kids get more comfortable around strangers or new people. And while he appreciated their caution of people they didn’t know, he would prefer that their first reaction to a newcomer wasn’t to hiss and bare their (small and honestly kind of cute) teeth.
Aym rolled his eyes, a sign he wasn’t anxious enough to be feeling nauseous, Narinder noted, both surprised and not at his own observance.
“I’m fine,” the kit grit out, tone clipped.
Narinder nodded awkwardly and turned away, unsure what or even if, he should say anything more. He walked towards the front desk, intent on asking if they had seen a tiny black kitten strolling along anywhere.
However when he reached the desk, and had the receptionist’s attention, Narinder felt the words stick in his throat.
The bird took pity on him and prompted him instead of waiting for whatever scrambled nonsense would inevitably fall from his mouth.
“Is there something I can help you with?”
He grasped onto the words and then hesitated.
Was he really about to admit he just lost his kid? Good guardians don’t lose the children they’re in charge of.
His heart began to pound a little bit and his hands gripped the material of his pants tightly. Part of him wanted to let out a frustrated scream, the other part of him wanted to go home and conk out on his couch.
“Sir? Are you alright? You’re looking a bit rough,” the Cardinal’s words were gentle if not a bit cloying in their sentiment. The reminder of pity from her previous words all of sudden reminded him of exactly why he was the one taking care of the twins in the first place. The thought had his arms straightening and knees locking.
“Where is the bathroom.” He didn’t phrase it like a question, and he definitely didn’t say it nicely but the receptionist didn’t seem to mind too much as she pointed down the hall and gave him curt and efficient instructions.
He nodded once tersely in thanks and speed walked down the hall, senses darting all around in order to catch a whiff, a glimpse, the smallest noise from Baal.
By the time he had passed the bathroom and had begun to circle back he had found nothing. Nothing.
When he arrived back near the bathrooms he crouched near the wall and pressed his fists to his eyes and willed himself to calm down.
They are relying on you brother, you cannot lose it, for their sake. Leshy’s rough and uncharacteristically stern voice played in his head. It was one of the last things they had talked about before the trial.
Unfortunately his brother was never good at calming anyone down and the thoughts of their conversation only made Narinder angry.
“Uh, excuse me if you would mind moving over just a bit—”
Narinder growled in frustration and whipped his head up to face whoever had spoken.
Oh. Fuck.
His eyes widened and he could almost feel his pupils dilate in the face of the sheep front of him. He prayed to whatever the hell was out there that they hadn’t noticed. Their plush gray lips curled in a soft frown.
Their delicate brow was raised, clearly unimpressed with the threatening growl he had just sounded.
Narinder’s heart fluttered in his chest at the expression, interested when it shouldn’t be.
Despite the loud yelling of his sister in his head telling him to stop being embarrassing and fucking introduce himself already goddamnit, Narinder couldn’t utter a single word.
Narinder never thought of himself as a shallow person, but the lamb in front of him was undoubtedly the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.
From the sharp point of their maroon horns, to their poof of wool that looked like it would be silken to the touch, to the puzzled and curious look adorned upon their face and a hint of something curious in black beguiling eyes. Their scrubs had a—quite frankly— adorable print of little rubber ducks traversing among the fabric. And if he looked down even further—
Eyes reflected his own stared back at him. A bundle of black fur in a white sweatshirt blinked at him calmly. Narinder was so shocked he almost didn’t notice the loose grip the kitten had on the sheep’s hand.
He raised his hands and began to sign furiously, certain that if he opened his mouth he would start screaming wordlessly.
Baal, why did you walk away without saying anything. His movements were sharp and his hands shook with barely contained relief and adrenaline. Unfortunately, to a traumatized child the movements look aggressive and strained, as if Narinder was winding back for something big.
Narinder raised his hands to clarify and then wondered if the kit would actually take his words to heart. He decided to do it anyway.
I’m not mad. Just worried.
Baal frowns and lets go of the stranger— because that’s who they are, a stranger. A beautiful, enticing stranger who was looking at him like an exotic predator in the wild, intrigued but wary. Baal raises his hands to respond.
Had to pee. His signs are short and patter out softly, like a murmur of sorry.
Regret momentarily overwhelms Narinders thoughts of the stranger. He holds his hands out to the kit in offer. Baal rushes to him quickly, wrapping his tiny arms around Narinder’s rib cage, head going to rest nestled in the crook of his shoulder. The action surprised him into silence. Never before had either of the kits shown such open affection.
A throat cleared above him, a fascinating mixture of awkward and pointed.
Getting a foot beneath himself, Narinder pulled himself and Baal up and well above the stranger’s gaze. They seem to realize the same moment that he does that he has well over a head on them in regards to height. Something inside him purrs. He blames it on the kit radiating warmth on his shoulder.
“Hi,” They begin, an awkward smile on their face.
“You, uh, I’m guessing you’re his father?”
Narinder blinks. Yes he would suppose it made sense they’d think that.
He shook his head lightly, not wanting to disturb the strange calmness Baal currently felt at his shoulder by jostling him.
“No, I’m his guardian.”
“Oh,” They blink, surprise evident on their incredibly expressive face, something that only made his heart beat work a little harder to keep him standing.
Their surprise morphed to a soft, sunny smile. Embarrassingly enough, his breath caught when they held out their hand to his.
“I’m Lambert! It’s nice to meet you.” Their eyes crinkle when they grin.
Narinder is so caught up tracing the lines of their charming grin with it’s slightly crooked teeth, that he blurts out something that is so horrifically rude Shamura would have sent his ass to the afterlife had they been there in that moment to hear him say,
“Why are your teeth crooked if you’re a dentist?”
Immediately the smile leaves, and eyes widen in its place. The hand remains frozen in place.
Narinder feels a small claw, sharp enough to hurt but not long enough to pierce skin, poke at his neck and knows that Baal is urging him to shut the fuck up. Narinder is inclined to listen.
Unfortunately the words can’t be taken back and now Narinder kind of wants to die.
A soft snort brings him out of his mildly self-deprecating reprieve. He looks up to find that the stranger— no not entirely stranger— Lambert, was holding back giggles, teeth biting into their lower lip. An insane part of him suggested replacing them with his own.
He promptly told that part of himself to fuck off.
Narinder thrusts his hand out, too fast, too eager, too awkward, too demanding.
The lamb takes his hand with the one they still have outstretched. Their grip is firm and unhesitating, smile back on their face and relaxed at the edges, as if a little laugh was what they had needed. He calms a bit at their face, realizing that perhaps he hadn’t messed up quite as much as he’d thought.
“Narinder,” he murmurs softly, not letting go of their hand after they finished their shake. Lambert didn’t seem to mind.
“Hello Narinder,” they greet warmly, black eyes piercing, knowing, and causing his breath to catch once again. Something seemed to snap into place, an aggravated sigh, a lid to a jar, a quick clap of hands, the breaking of a wooden chair—
A door. So long closed opens with a soft click. And a wooly lamb slips in.