Chapter Text
Give it up for Johnny to ruin all your plans tonight.
He’s started with an innocent little text; you took no heed to it and continued to finish the work you’d been putting off for weeks now. But your phone vibrates so frequently you think he has resorted to calling you.
No.
He’s spamming through your messages now.
Fighting the small groan from your lips when you reach for the phone situated on the top of your desk, hand outstretched backwards as you shift against wooden floors. They creak annoyingly when you struggle.
He has been on your tail ever since you moved here, where first glances were greeted with warm eyes and easy smiles until you uncovered the loud—room filling personality beneath them. Somehow, that same presence became your obnoxious partner in crime, that you’d think after four consecutive years of seeing each other dutifully that he’d grow bored of you, throw you aside when he’s sated.
Well, he hasn’t.
This… thing that you thought was driven by novelty- which was how most of your friendships had started and ended -was actually becoming something more. He was either never unsatisfied or just …devout. You think of the latter at the eyes that never dim at the sight of merely seeing you. Even when you think it wasn’t a good time to approach him–or it seemed like he was having an awful day–when his brows crease and furrow or even when his eyes don’t light up the same way–
He always had a way to make you feel seen, welcome. And most of all needed .
Whether it was platonically or not wouldn’t matter; you were soulmates.
Maybe you were reaching; you definitely were.
The familiar photograph of you and your friends, collaged with a bunch of other pictures, ( you had probably squeezed a photo of Johnny and you in there too) greets you familiarly. And you ignore the bold letters that say 20:37, 13 February before opening the bundle of messages spilling through your notifications—
What the actual fuck?
—gibberish, some actual fucking nonsense.
And in the end of the messages he had written,
Sorry bon, tha’ was my cat.
Sorry, elaborate??
You huffed, incredulous.
And the cheeky bastard hadn’t replied. What in the world– what? Was he messing with you??
You sigh to run your hands through your hair, fighting a reason to or not to just barge in his dorm room right now when it was just a couple of steps away from yours.
You settled for the better option and continued on with your work.
Apparently, Johnny isn’t having any of it.
Unfortunately for you, he sends you another text that fortunately , wasn’t all rubbish.
Dinnae what to do wi’ him.
You sigh and indulge the poor man with your arduous response.
With who?
He sends you a picture, the message right under it screams at you for help. It takes a minute to load, from the blurring image you could tell at first glance it was a small figure. And when the full picture comes into view, you coo at the sight of a grey tabby and green eyes charging for Johnny’s phone– it looks no older than a few months . Now you remember.
It was just two days ago when the both of you were heading home– and by home you meant your accommodation. Your memory of the night was all fuzzy as Johnny helps you with a wobbling arm on your shoulder, keeping you upright despite it all. He was the one who encouraged you to take more than you could anyway. Knowing he could make fun of your hangover the next day as he held up much better than you did. But what you could remember was him struggling to bring you up straight. Maybe he hadn’t considered all the outcomes and now was left with having to drag you home by the arm. Nearly knocking your head off at the narrow staircase.
All you could recall was the warmth beside you and the avid tries of your nose in avoiding the putrid stench the streets left.
Trying to recall most of his words proves to be a challenge—they blur together, slipping between the cracks of your hazy memory, much like the conversation itself. Or whatever could pass for a conversation in your equally inebriated states.
But what you do remember, clear as day, is how he felt. The sharp inhale when your heel landed on his foot, the way he hissed in protest before grumbling about it. The lingering warmth of his arm steadying you, the low chuckle he tried to suppress when you nearly stumbled again. And how, despite his complaints, he still carried you back the entire way—because, as he so bluntly put it, he’d rather haul you like a baby than surrender his shoes for you and walk barefoot through the cold, sopping-wet streets of Glasgow.
Funny how the details fade, but not him. Never him.
He also had told you of how you shrieked from his grasp when you heard the bushes beside him rattling, how your protests had startled him too, almost dropping you in the process. Thankfully , he didn’t.
Well that was what he said but you weren’t a hundred percent sure of that.
You’ve got a cat??Didnae jus say tha’?
And you roll your eyes before typing one last thing.
Give me five minutes.
You swear underneath your breath as you clean the sprawl of things scattered on the floorboard, scattering them on the desk instead before shoving your laptop close to sleep mode and you headed outside in whatever you were currently wearing; you were too tired to change into anything fitting anyway.
He knows it’s you just by the sound of your slippers, how your weight shifts on one foot before trudging forward with the other after an unfortunate event with your bike a week ago. Even when they were muffled by the carpeted floors outside, he opened the door large and wide before your hand could even reach the handle, stumbling at the sudden loss of contact.
And you scowl when he crows. Steadying you with a smile. Crossing his arms when he leans against the doorway with broad shoulders that deny you your field of vision when you try to peek through his shoulder.
“Thought ye said five minutes lass, it’s–”
His words go from one ear to the other when you shut him up with a light jab to his chest that sends him reeling, and Johnny being Johnny— dramatizes it for worse.
“What’d you do to the poor thing?” Your frown deepens even further at the state of his room and you wonder how he could live like this for three years now.
Movement underneath the pile of clothes takes you back to that hazy night, and something inside you clicks when you see familiar green eyes. You kneel down and reach your hand out for it. Saving it from choking to its gruesome death by the hands of Johnny’s god forbidden laundry piled up on the floor. It quickly reciprocates by meowing, loudly. And you try to shush it as it slowly approaches you— falls - and gets back up again.
Your eyes gleam at the green ones that return the favor.
Johnny is right behind you when he chuckles, “Couldnae leave the wee thin’ alone now, could I?” You hum as it tries to poke at your finger, rolling over when it needs to. Your smile widens as you avoid its claws repeatedly when you try to tickle its stomach.
“Got a name for it?”
“Nah, was gon’ an give it to ye.”
“To me?”
“To you.” And he couldn’t help but smile at the look you gave him.
Bastard.
He knew you’ve always wanted something warm and fuzzy to keep you company, how you overshared after one too many drinks that it had been your childhood dream. You barely remembered saying it, but apparently he’s never forgotten that stupid conversation.
“Have you fed it?”
He rolls his shoulders meekly when he shrugs, “Did wha’ I can but don’t think it’s enough for er’.”
He’s now bent at the knee, kneeling right beside you as his comically large hands carefully stroke the tiny creature’s fur, it purrs against his hand and its face rests on his palm. Johnny fights back the urge to squeeze its adorable face, and you think you had misheard him when you heard him chirp at the sight. And you crack the loudest chortle that made the creature jump. Bouncing off of Johnny’s hand and back to the pile of clothes on the floor.
You should really start finding it a name instead of calling it the creature.
“Let’s give it a proper home then.”
He stands up with you, hands on his hips at your suggestion but his delighted eyes betray the disappointment in his stance.
“Yer suggestin’ we keep it ‘ere?”
“Well, you of all people managed to not get caught keeping this here so why not?”
“Ah dunno’ bonnie,” He coaxes and rubs a hand behind his neck but you know it was only to test how far you were willing to go to keep it. “She’s a wee lass righ’ now so it’s much easier to hide ‘er but….”
You cut him off with when you turn to look at him,
“But when’s a rule stopped us before?”
And the charming quirk of his lips reaches his ears at hearing your words.
The two of you recklessly crashed the nearest supermarket, scanning the aisles for cat food and your eyes set on the big, red sign that screamed discounts in big bulks. But it certainly was too big for you to bring back, enough to catch the wrong attention.
But Johnny has other plans, and zeroes in on the one with the perfect packaging for the creature. It looked exactly just like the cat you had in Johnny’s room; it was uncanny. And with the giddiest of smirks on his face, he had run into you. Waving it in front of your face as he pointed his index over the grey tabby cat and artificial purple packaging like he had won some unbelievable prize.
You raised your brow good-naturedly but it shifts to genuine concern at the bright red sticker that revealed its price. And he shot you a look, as if you’d just gravely insulted his greatest achievement.
“Hell's that?” you accuse in disbelief, knowing the answer.
“Dinner, for t’ morrow.” He potently rolls his eye at your jab.
A hum escapes you but not without the quiet chuckle that follows when you turn your back towards him.
The night drifts by as you walk home, weighed down by too many bags. Johnny carries most of them, no matter how many times you try to swat his hand away, insisting to him that you can manage. Not that it stops him—he waits for just the right moment, then plucks them from your grasp when you’re too busy looking at where you’re stepping.
Your conversation meanders, mostly centered around what to do tomorrow— another Valentine’s Day spent without a Valentine. You don’t let your mind linger on the thought that Johnny could have someone if he wanted to. And that he hasn’t. That for some reason, he’s here with you instead.
Eventually, you both settle on warm ramen and chocolate covered strawberries before heading back to Johnny’s door to check on your dearest Nibbles —the tiny menace who had earned his name after sinking his teeth at Johnny. The attack had nearly sent his controller flying, and you, being no help, collapsed onto his couch, breathless from laughter.
These moments—you don’t take them for granted. And that night, you both made its official name.
Nibbles.
It sounds stupid but you only led it slide because Johnny had swore at him nibblin’ on his arm like a fuckin’ rascal— your cat was basically your child now.
You and Johnny agree to switch off taking care of him, like divorced parents with shared custody. Only, this arrangement isn’t forced. It’s natural and easy as if it’s exactly how things were meant to be with him.
You were now both sprawled on the couch, and Johnny watches the grey tabby curl up in your lap, his lips twitch when he looks at you like he wants to say something—but he doesn’t. Instead, he shakes his head with a quiet chuckle, nudging a leg towards your side of the couch, your crossed legs.
You don’t question it-how easily you fall into place with him. He takes the left side and you take the right. That’s how it just is.
“Yer gon’ an have to fight me for custody if he starts likin’ ye more.”
You roll your eyes, popping a strawberry into your mouth as you ignore his prod.
“And … who’s getting him for Valentine's day?”
“Someone responsible,” He hums as if in thought.
You scoff. “Says the person who tried to buy a twenty-pound bag of cat food on impulse.”
He shoves a pillow at you, and Nibbles takes that as his cue to launch an attack—on Johnny, of course. The strawberries in his hand nearly go flying again, and you’re clutching your stomach so hard you can barely breathe.
You don’t think you would trade this for anything.