Work Text:
It’s a cool autumn morning when Rody hears a high-pitched meow from the side of the road, and he almost misses it under the crunch of crispy, orange and brown leaves. His head snaps to the side toward the sound, and he lingers in place, waiting for another giveaway, another clearer cry; it comes only a few beats after the first.
Rody makes a face. He’s supposed to be on his way to work—another one of those ‘just making the time pass’ kinds of jobs—but his brain decides that this is far more important and more interesting than making a quick buck. He kneels beside the dip in the road, eyes scanning the muddy grass until—there.
A small, black kitten peers up at him from behind a scrawny bush’s branch; its eyes are curious, but defensive. It’s so tiny that Rody thinks a gust of wind could knock it over, and he hesitantly offers a hand forward, watching its ears perk and pupils fluctuate with uncertainty. The kitten’s hair prickles when Rody’s hand moves, but he stills himself right in front of it and allows it the time to relax, lets it know that he’s not there to harm it.
Rody’s chest bubbles with happiness when it gains the courage to lean forward and sniff at the side of his finger, and it dubs him a decent enough human to rub its face against him, too. He’s careful not to startle it when he twists his palm upward and scratches under its chin with one fingernail, feeling giddiness flood his system at how its entire body vibrates with purring and it presses into the touch.
“You’re so cute,” Rody finds himself muttering aloud, cheeks burning and pushing up from beneath his eyelids. He presses the stupid grin off his face with the palm of his free hand and cautiously curls one finger after another underneath the kitten’s stomach before scooping it up into his arms. It flails at first, claws coming out and latching onto the sleeve of his knitted sweater, but Rody manages to lull it into a state of calm once again, petting along its back and scratching behind its ears.
He figures the first order of business is getting it to a vet; he’s barely got enough money for that, but the poor thing looks at him with stars in its eyes and Rody can’t exactly bring himself to leave it or let anyone else handle it for him.
So he finds a vet in the area, and finds out two things: firstly, the kitten is a boy. Secondly, he’s surprisingly healthy for a cat his age on the street—only four months old. No fleas, no illnesses or worrying injuries. He’s got a small cut on one of his legs, but that’s the worst of it. Rody takes him back to his apartment with a gauze-wrapped paw.
He fixes a makeshift bed and litter box for the little guy, then spends the next half-hour watching him and pondering what to do. Rody’s already missed his shift and he’s sure he’s going to get an annoying earful the next time he’s in, that is if he isn’t already fired for not showing up in the first place. The thoughts float around in his mind like a lazy river carrying the letters in a carousel motion, and Rody studies the kitten a bit closer.
He sort of reminds me of Vince, is a thought that creeps to the forefront of Rody’s mind, and it takes him an extra second to register it. He finds himself spluttering a little, startling the poor thing, and he earns a well-deserved hiss of dissatisfaction.
“Sorry,” Rody murmurs, tries to gesture vaguely in apology toward the kitten. Still, its eyes remain flat and annoyed, slightly more cautious than before. He glances over at the rotary phone perched on the coffee table across the room, an idea bubbling up inside of him. Not the best idea he’s had, though he rarely has good ideas to begin with—but it could work, and he’s been looking for something like this for a while now anyway.
Rody dials for Vince. It rings once, twice, and then clicks just before the third time.
“Hello?”
“Hey!” Rody winces at his own eagerness, clears his throat and tries to mellow out his tone. He watches the kitten pad around the living room curiously from the corner of his eye. “Uh, hey, Vince. I was—I was wondering, would you be able to come over? Or—or, you know, I could come over to your place, maybe? It’s not…urgent, per se, but, um—well. You’d understand better if you saw, probably.”
There’s a pause, and Rody can’t quite tell if Vince is scowling or holding back that teasing, haughty laughter of his.
“It sounds like it could be a hassle having you come over here,” Vince says plainly, after the pause feels long enough to stretch across generations. Rody hears some sort of shuffling across the line, fuzzy and crinkling. “I can be over soon. Be sure to clean up a bit, though, would you?” He doesn’t say it, but Rody is sure Vince is still prickly about having fallen face-first into the wall and almost broke his nose after tripping over a pile of clothing Rody’d been meaning to clean.
He manages a sheepish, “Yeah! Yeah, you got it, of course. See you soon, thank you.”
Vince sighs over the line, but now Rody can hear the smile in his voice. “Goodbye, Rody,” and there’s a click, then the line goes silent.
When Vince finally arrives, the apartment is as clean as Rody can make it with a kitten that’s curious about anything and apparently loves to make more messes for him; the little guy seemingly loves climbing onto countertops and knocking off anything within reach and clawing at the already-beaten up furniture Rody has.
He’s greeted promptly at the doorway, probably much too frantic on Rody’s part, but he says nothing of it, only perks an eyebrow and slides past him into the apartment. They share a brief hug, awkward as it is for both of them, and then Rody is wringing his hands around each other.
“So,” he starts, then bites his tongue.
Vince looks at him, hums, then begins unwrapping the scarf from around his neck. “So,” he parrots dryly.
Rody squirms where he stands. His eyes dart around the room as if checking for something. Vince follows them but finds nothing of particular note—the mess is less than usual, of course, but not entirely gone.
“Y’know how your birthday is coming up?”
For a split second, Vince feels himself grow tense; he takes a breath and relaxes, but there’s an underlying itch he can’t quite reach and smother. “Yes…?” He tries slowly, eyeing Rody’s posture and expression more closely.
Rody’s mouth opens again, but before he can say anything, there’s a loud yowl that echoes from behind a door; it’s followed closely by the distinct sound of scratching against wood. Vince looks toward the direction of the noise, then back at Rody with his eyes narrowed.
“S-surprise?” Rody tries, smiling sheepishly before rushing toward the door. He cracks it open and allows the kitten to spring out from the other room, bounding into the space between their feet, eyeing Vince suspiciously and mewing with strange enthusiasm directed at him. “I think he likes you, maybe,” Rody adds with a nervous laugh.
A moment passes, and Vince is silent, gaze following the little black kitten as it steps in swirls around Rody’s feet and meows profusely. His fingers squeeze around the fabric of the scarf in his hands, slowly asking, “Is that…a cat?” It’s a dumb question and Vince feels the stupidity of it seep into his bones, but there’s a rattling shock coating his interior and he struggles to find the words for anything else; it hangs in the semi-silence, the only thing he says.
“Uh, yeah,” Rody peeps out, kneeling down to run his fingers over the smooth, black fur. He lifts the kitten up carefully, then shuffles closer to Vince and holds the little guy out toward him. “Look, though, isn’t he cute? Don’t you think so?”
The kitten stares unblinkingly at Vince, who finds himself doing the same in return. “It’s…certainly a cat,” he decides upon saying, despite the fact that he is fond of cats and the kitten is quite cute. He holds his tongue, whether it be for Rody’s or his own sake. “Where did you even get the thing?”
Rody winces a little, and Vince figures he isn’t going to like whatever answer will follow. “I, uh, found him. Side of the road kind of thing—he was just…he’s so small and it’s so cold out, I couldn’t help but feel bad for him.”
“Rody,” Vince starts, and his eyebrows furrow, “please tell me that kitten isn’t diseased or flea-ridden.”
“No!” Rody lets the little guy go and watches amusedly as he sniffs at Vince’s shoes. His hands shoot upright in faux-surrender, shaking his head. “I took him to the vet a few hours ago. He’s fine, or at least he should be.”
A pause, and Vince sighs. “Have you named him?” He asks, stepping back ever so slightly when the kitten swats a paw at his shoe.
“Um, no, not really. I was thinking you could help me with that? Or, y’know, if you wanted to just name him something on your own—”
“We can decide together,” Vince interrupts. Rody notices the warmth over his cheeks and makes a note to turn the heat up just a little more; he’s probably still chilly from the cold autumn weather.
“Okay,” he says, and offers Vince the side of the couch that doesn’t fall into itself when someone sits against it.
They name him Claude, and Vince has to stifle a laugh behind the palm of his hand when Rody suggests it. He makes some excuse about liking the sound of the name, but Vince teases him about the meaning behind it and they both get a little kick out of it. So, Claude it is.
Rody finds himself sitting on the floor in the time between Vince’s arrival and the time spent deciding on a proper name for the kitten; Vince finds himself sitting beside him, complaining about the mess but not budging when Rody nudges him with his shoulder. The kitten—now properly named Claude—skitters back and forth between the two of them, eager to nibble at Rody’s fingers when he waggles them right in his muzzle and finding shelter under the flap of Vince’s coat when he’s spooked by them. Rody recognizes a familiar softness splitting over Vince’s face as the time passes, but he says nothing of it since he knows well and true that Vince would deny the affections until his own grave.
“He’s a lot friendlier now,” Rody comments offhandedly, giving Claude a few loving scratches behind one ear. “I think I was right when I said he likes you.”
“I’m fairly certain he likes you more,” Vince scoffs. He lightly pats the floor to call Claude toward him, and the kitten waddles over curiously, licks at his hand, then mews and flops onto his side between them.
“Well, he’s your birthday present.” A short beat of silence, then Rody corrects, “Early birthday present.”
Vince purses his lips. He had forgotten that Rody had said something about that a few hours earlier. He makes a strangled sort of sound, quiet and buried in his throat. “You’re dumping the responsibility onto me,” he says.
Rody blinks. “I’m not! Promise. I’ll help out, be over whenever you need me.”
Vince looks away. He mindlessly pets Claude, fingernails dragging through the dark fur. “Any time? Really?”
“Well,” Rody backtracks, spluttering a little, cheeks red, “maybe not…any time. But most of the time, sure.” He snorts out a laugh, grins, and leans back against the base of the couch. “Or you can just give me more hours at the Bistro. Whichever works for you, boss.”
A hum escapes Vince, coupled with a small, fondly warm chuckle. “We’ll see,” he teases, though he really won’t since they both know that Rody is more than busy enough as it is, juggling multiple jobs, stubbornly refusing any money that Vince offers him. He tries not to be sour about it, usually, since he knows Rody’s only refusing because he thinks it’s some sort of hit to his pride if he doesn’t. Sighing, Vince shakes the thoughts from him and then tilts his head to the side, rests it against Rody’s shoulder. “He’s staying here until you teach him how to use a litter box, though.”
“Ugh, seriously?” Rody groans a little, but it melts into short giggles; he does his best to keep from moving too much and losing the weight of Vince’s head against him. “Fine. I can do that,” he says. “You’ll help pay for it, won’t you?”
Vince smiles, hums again. “I’ll take it out of your paycheck.”
Rody scoffs. “Cruel,” he jokes.
But he wouldn’t even mind if Vince did (he won’t) because he does like Claude a lot, and even if he’s technically Vince’s birthday present, it’s pretty clear that they’ll be sharing the responsibility from now on. Claude will probably feel like the most spoiled kitten in the city with the two of them doting over him from now on.
“Maybe he’s got siblings,” Rody adds with a growing smile.
“Don’t even think about it, Rody.”
“Right,” he laughs, light and airy in his lungs, “sorry.”