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“We do not need a pet.”
Thanos’s voice cuts through the crisp, morning air. His hands are shoved into his pockets. He’s standing a few feet away from Nam-gyu, who’s crouched on the pavement, eyeing the black kitten with an almost childlike wonder.
The kitten mewls. It hobbles around, struggling to walk over. It’s black, with just a little bit of white under its chin and on its chest. Its eyes are a bright, blazing green. And it won’t stop crying. Thanos scoffs.
“Thanos, she’s hurt.” He turns his head back to face him. His eyebrows are knitted together, eyes narrowed. “How can you just leave her here? She needs help!”
Thanos fights the urge to roll his eyes. “Yeah? And how do you know that it doesn’t have an owner already? Huh? You wanna be responsible for kidnapping someone’s cat?”
“Oh, my God,” Nam-gyu groans. The kitten tries to step up to Nam-gyu, but stumbles and falls. It lets out another pained cry. He softens his voice as he pleads, “Thanos, please? Please, can we take her home? If she does belong to someone then we can bring her back!”
“Baby, I just don’t know. I mean, isn’t this a really impulsive thing to do?” Usually, Thanos is all for impulsive decisions. All for the thrill of it, the uncertainty, the unpredictability. But this is different, somehow.
“Since when do you care about impulsive?” Nam-gyu rebuttals, as Thanos suspected he might.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Baby, come on.” He places his hand on Nam-gyu’s shoulder, grasping it firmly, but not hard enough to hurt. “Can’t we talk about this later? Like, at home?”
Nam-gyu frowns, head bowing as it turns back to face forward. The kitten rubs up against his knee, wobbly and slow. She purrs, content. Nam-gyu runs his fingers through her hair, scratches underneath her chin and then behind her ear. It flicks at the touch, but she does not move away. The purring grows louder.
And when Thanos can no longer take the silence, he sighs. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Fine, let’s take her back.”
“Really?” Nam-gyu’s eyes sparkle a little.
“Yeah. I can’t stand seeing you like that. All sad and miserable.”
Nam-gyu grins. He reaches out slowly, taking the kitten into his arms. She cries out, not necessarily out of pain, but out of fear, out of stress. Nam-gyu shushes her softly, stroking the top of her head. And honestly, Thanos is bewildered. Mystified. He’s never acted this way about anything before. He’s never even acted this way about him. He’s come close, sure, but it’s never been anything like this.
Nam-gyu stands. “We should go home. We have to figure out what we’re going to do with her. She needs somewhere to sleep, and she needs something to eat, and— and I’ll call a vet when we get home too, so we can see if there’s anything we can do to help her.”
Thanos nods, listens along as they walk. He’s still apprehensive about this decision (he doesn’t even like cats). But by seeing the look on Nam-gyu’s face, and seeing how adamant he is, it becomes hard for him to say no. And, despite himself, he asks, “Do you want me to go and pick up some stuff for her? Food and a bed and stuff?”
Nam-gyu turns his head, expression softening. “Would you do that? For me?”
Thanos blushes, scratches the back of his head. “Yeah. Do you want me to?”
“Could you? I’ll call the vet and get started on cleaning.”
Oh, right. The cleaning. Great. Thanos had almost forgotten about that. Their initial plan for the day was to clean up the apartment. It’s been far too long. Nam-gyu’s gotten sick of the mess. He declared it over breakfast the same morning. He wore this soured expression that Thanos, in all honesty, found adorable. He’d glanced around the apartment with pure disdain, going on and on about how much of a mess it is, how they’re never going to feel better, not really, unless they surround themselves with a nice and tidy space. And he’s probably right.
But Thanos doesn’t like cleaning. Never has. He’s found that he’s always doing something wrong, whether it be putting something in the wrong place, or using the wrong technique (what the fuck is the right technique, anyway?).
“Yeah,” he murmurs, hand traveling to Nam-gyu’s waist and holding him closer. Around them, trees sway in the breeze. Nam-gyu leans against Thanos, head tilting upward to catch a better glimpse of him. Thanos meets his eye, and he smiles, and despite the chill, they both feel warm.
“What do you think we should call her?” Nam-gyu asks, once they’re a few blocks from home. “I think she looks like a. . . Hmm. . .” A name never does leave his mouth. He stares at the kitten, eyes narrowed in concentration, like he’s performing an examination. He hums. “What do you think she looks like, hyung?”
“Let’s name her something cool! Like Galactus, man! How cool would that be? A cat named Galactus! Like, imagine you’re out and someone’s like, ‘Oh, your cat is so cute! What’s her name?’ and then you can be like, ‘Her name’s Galactus.’ Wouldn’t that be so sick?”
Nam-gyu blinks. “Okay, first of all, isn’t Galactus a guy?”
“Who cares? You need to be more open minded.” He scoffs.
“We’re not naming her Galactus.”
“Fine, then. Since you hate my ideas so bad, you don’t get my help.”
Nam-gyu laughs softly, bows his head to look at the kitten instead. “Hmm. . . I think we’ll call you Kitty for now. Until we find a better name.”
“Seriously? That’s all you can think of? Kitty?”
“It’s better than Galactus, asshole. At least Kitty is fitting for a cat.”
“Whatever!” Thanos whines melodramatically. “You wouldn’t know a cool name if it hit you in the face.”
Nam-gyu snickers. He shifts Kitty’s weight so that she’s laying on one arm. He links his free arm in Thanos’s own, pulling himself closer. Thanos presses his lips to the top of Nam-gyu’s head. Kitty mewls and paws at Nam-gyu’s sleeve.
* * *
By the time Nam-gyu and Thanos reach the apartment, it’s nearly noon. Nam-gyu pushes the door open and sets Kitty down on the floor. Her legs tremble and buckle, and she doesn’t seem to want to move or explore at all. Nam-gyu frowns.
“Poor Kitty,” he murmurs. Then he turns to Thanos. “It’s because she’s in a new place, I think. She’s scared. My old cat was like this too, when we got him. We’ll have to keep her in the bathroom for the night. Till she gets used to us.”
Thanos nods. He observes the kitten silently, watching her stumble around and startle at every little thing. He supposes she’s kind of cute, in a way. He also thinks that Galactus would still make for a sick name. Nam-gyu just doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Oh well. He’ll work on it.
Nam-gyu steps into the kitchen, careful not to startle Kitty any more. He pulls the cabinet open and grabs a bowl. Then, he fills it with some water and sets it on the floor.
“Kitty,” he calls softly, “come get some water. You must be so thirsty, you poor thing.”
Kitty stops for a moment, her head perking up at the mention of water. She eyes Nam-gyu curiously, her tail swishing back and forth just slightly. It’s almost like she’s suspicious. Skeptical. Eventually, though, she hobbles over. She lowers her head and laps at the water. Slow at first, but once she realizes there are no strings attached, she can’t stop. She drinks like her life depends on it, and she drinks more still. Nam-gyu glances at Thanos, eyebrows knitted together in concern.
“She probably hasn’t had anything to drink in days. There hasn’t been rain in a while. Who knows where she’s been. Where she hasn’t been.”
Thanos can’t help but laugh. Light and airy.
“What?” Nam-gyu huffs. “Am I not allowed to be worried?”
“You are,” he says in between exhales. “It’s just that I’ve never seen you care about something so much before. I wish you’d care for me like that.”
“Shut up,” he mutters, his ears glowing bright red. “You’re grown. You can handle yourself. She can’t. She’s little, and she has problems with her leg.”
“Okay, well, whatever. I still think you should do stuff like that for me once in a while.”
Nam-gyu rolls his eyes. “All right. You’re making me sound like some heartless monster.” He pauses, shooting an indignant glare at Thanos. “Don’t even think about saying anything.”
Thanos holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of such a thing, baby. Don’t worry. I think you’re an angel, actually.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” Nam-gyu nods, lips curving upward. “Hey, can you go to the store now? I don’t wanna shove you out the door or anything. I’m just worried about her. If she’s this desperate for water, then she probably hasn’t had anything to eat, either. When I was holding her, I thought I could feel her ribs a little bit. And can you maybe get some toys for her too? To help her feel more at home.”
“Noted,” Thanos says, with a nod of his own. “Anything else? Do you want me to get a bed for her too?”
Nam-gyu shrugs, leans against the counter, legs straight. “Do what you want, I guess. If you find one that’s cute or something, then go for it.”
Thanos hums. “Sounds good. I’ll text you if I need help.”
“You do that.” Nam-gyu stands straighter then, and steps forward to give Thanos a kiss. “I love you.”
It never gets old, that saying. The way Nam-gyu says it always gets him, too: voice sweet like dripping honey. Lips curved up, dimples visible. Eyes glowing. It’s on his bucket list, to make a song out of Nam-gyu’s ‘I love you’s. Nothing to release, nothing to even record, really. Just something for them both to enjoy.
“I love you too,” Thanos says. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”
Nam-gyu nods. His hand travels down Thanos’s arm, and he lets it linger on his wrist for just a moment before pulling away and focusing back on Kitty.
And after Thanos is gone, Nam-gyu gets to work.
Cleaning is therapeutic for him, almost. He enjoys seeing the product most. How far he’s come from the beginning. It’s satisfying. Gratifying. It makes him feel accomplished.
He doesn’t like his space to become too messy, though. When it becomes too cluttered, too littered, it drives him insane. Everything has its place, its order. He can’t stand to see it out of order.
He loves Thanos. Really. He does. He wants to spend the rest of his life with him, if given the opportunity. But he cannot stand the way that Thanos allows messes to accumulate. Now, it’s not that he doesn’t understand why it happens. He does. He’s very understanding when it comes to things like that. He would never force Thanos to tidy up in the midst of an episode. He’d never scold him, or yell at him, or even mention it. Not afterward, either. He recognizes that it isn’t Thanos’s fault, and he recognizes it well. He’s had his moments, too. He’d be a hypocrite to call Thanos out for it. It just gets on his nerves sometimes. That’s all.
But it’s no matter. There’s no mess that Nam-gyu isn’t capable of cleaning. Besides, Thanos will help him soon enough anyway, and four hands are better than two.
With Kitty here, though, his progress is stunted. He’s not able to work as diligently as he’d like to. He doesn’t typically like to start his deep cleans in the kitchen, either, but he supposes it can’t hurt just this once. He’ll be able to keep a better eye on Kitty this way.
As it turns out, Kitty makes for pretty good company. She’s quiet aside from the occasional mew and purr, which Nam-gyu doesn’t mind at all. She’s curious, too. Her anxiety seems to shed off more and more with each passing moment. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s owned a cat before. Like she knows, or something. Trusts him a little more than anyone else.
Kitty walks up to him, rubs against his legs. She paws at his pants and lets out a soft whine.
“I know, Kitty,” he says absentmindedly as he drops empty takeout containers into the trashbag. “Don’t worry. Thanos’ll be home with your food soon. He’ll get you something real nice. I bet he’s going to get you a treat, too. He’s good about that. He’s going to spoil you so much. He spoils me. I don’t think I really deserve it all that much, to tell you the truth. But it’s nice. It’s really nice. I don’t know how I ended up with someone like him. I’m lucky. I think you’re lucky too, Kitty. Thanos is going to love you so much. He just— he loves so much. God, he’s amazing. He’s the man that you read about in classics. He’s like my very own Mr. Darcy. But he’s better than that. He’s better than Mr. Darcy. He’s better than Romeo. You’ll see.”
Nam-gyu turns and places the last bit of the trash in the bag. Then, he wipes his hands on his thighs and turns toward Kitty. “Well, that’s the worst of it. What’re you thinking, huh? You wanna see the bedroom?”
Kitty tilts her head, ear flicking. Nam-gyu smiles. “Here, let’s go.” He moves to pick her up, but she jolts backward, ears flattening and back arching. Nam-gyu recoils too, hand reeling back against his chest. “Oh— I’m sorry! Did I scare you?” He slowly moves his hand forward again, holding his palm up. Kitty remains scrunched up in the corner for a few moments, but when she realizes that Nam-gyu is unfaltering, she allows herself to calm down. She observes his hand, and presses her nose against it before rubbing the side of her head against it.
“There you go,” Nam-gyu coos quietly, scratching behind her ear. “You’re safe.” He moves to pick her up again, and this time, she allows it. A smile makes its way onto his face. He brings her into the bedroom and places her onto the bed. She stretches and curls up on the duvet.
The bedroom isn’t messy in the way that the kitchen is, or in the way that any of the other rooms are. There’s no trash, really, just things that are out of place. Things that are out of order. Their clothes (mostly Thanos’s, but he is guilty of this too) are scattered around the floor despite the laundry basket sitting a few feet away. Clothes shoved into the closet unceremoniously, as if trying to hide them. But Nam-gyu doesn’t mind. Honest. It’s nothing a little bit of cleaning can’t fix.
He collects the shirts first, and then the pants. Shoves them into the laundry basket with great haste. It isn’t until he reaches the closet that the problem arises. In the back of the closet, in the corner, lies a large pile of clothes. It almost appears to have been placed there on purpose. As a distraction of some sort. Nam-gyu raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. He begins to pick away at the pile, until the clinking of glass bottles against each other resonates throughout the cramped space.
Nam-gyu’s heart drops into his stomach. A sickening, sinking feeling sets in. He’d recognize that sound anywhere. And sure enough, after he peels away the last shirt, the familiar branding of the alcohol bottle makes itself known to him.
He doesn’t quite know what to think. Why does he have these? And why the fuck is he hiding them in the closet? Had he intended for Nam-gyu to never find them? Why not? What is the reason for the lack of trust? The lack of communication? He’d said that he was going to stop drinking. Said it reminded him too much of his father, that he’d better learn to stop before it’s too late. And yet here he is, lying and hiding and acting not unlike his father.
And it’s not that this is a simple misunderstanding. This is a deliberate act of secrecy and lying against him, and he’s not going to put up with it. He can’t allow himself to put up with it.
Nam-gyu throws the bottles into the trash promptly after. He stops cleaning, too. His mood has soured. He’ll wait, though, to confront Thanos until the time is right.
* * *
When Thanos steps into the apartment, he can tell that something is off. It’s something he can’t quite put his finger on, but it’s something regardless. He steps into the kitchen. The trash and empty containers have been cleared off of the counter. Perfect timing, he thinks as he sets the bags down.
“Nam?” he calls. “You home?” It’s odd for Nam-gyu not to greet him at the door. Maybe he’s not home. Maybe he’d taken Kitty to the vet already. But to not text him? Weird. It’s all so weird.
Thanos turns, and Nam-gyu appears in the doorway, Kitty in his arms. He’s stroking her head. Thanos breathes out a laugh. “No kiss? What, are you mad at me or somethin’?” He looks down at Kitty. “You’re so attached to that thing. It’s kind of scary.”
Nam-gyu rolls his eyes. There’s a hint of belligerence to his demeanor, but Thanos figures it just has something to do with his usual moodiness.
“She’s not a thing. She’s a cat. And it’s not scary. Have you never had a pet before?”
Thanos huffs. “I have too.” It’s not a complete lie. He had an old dog when he was very small, but it’d died before he turned four. His memories of his pet are few and far between, but he still holds them dear to his heart. “I just think cats are stupid. Dogs are better.”
“God, you don’t know anything,” Nam-gyu grumbles, shaking his head. “Dogs are disgusting and loud and too”—he gesticulates wildly—“doglike. Cats are quiet and they can take care of themselves. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Whatever.” It’s Thanos’s turn to shake his head, but he smiles. He turns toward the counter and begins sifting through the bags. “I got her some food,” he says as he pulls out a small bag of cat food. “And I got her some toys. See? This one’s like. . . A mouse. And it makes crinkly noises. I also found this laser pointer. You know those videos where the cats go crazy over them? Maybe she’ll go crazy too. Oh! I got her some treats too. These ones are so cute! They’re heart shaped. I also found some catnip. I thought that was fun. I couldn’t find a bed, though. I mean, they had dog beds, but I didn’t think you’d want one of those. They were really big.”
Thanos lifts his head. Nam-gyu still seems upset, but his shoulders relax just slightly, and there’s an almost pleasant expression on his face.
Nam-gyu looks down at Kitty and says, “See? I told you he’d spoil you.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Thanos sets all of the items back into the bags. “Did you start cleaning, Nam?” he asks.
Nam-gyu tenses just slightly. Subtle enough for the average person to not notice, but Thanos knows better than that. Thanos notices everything about him, no matter how small. The way his eyes harden just slightly, the way his mouth drops into a small, tight frown. The way His hands ball into fists.
“Yeah.” His voice is low. Something’s wrong. It doesn’t occur to Thanos to worry about what he’d left behind. Not right away.
“Okay,” he says slowly. “You’re sure you’re not mad at me or something?”
“Yes,” Nam-gyu answers, teeth gritted. “It’s fine. Just, I don’t know. Go clean the bathroom. It’s not so bad in there.”
“Yes, sir,” he says with a mock salute. He shrugs off the tone of Nam-gyu’s voice, even though the underlying agitation is beginning to concern him greatly.
It takes Thanos a long time to clean the bathroom. It’s not that he’s doing a deep clean or anything, and it’s not that the bathroom is so large that it requires an equally large amount of time. No; the bathroom is big enough for one person to use comfortably. It has a bathtub, a sink, and a toilet. That’s all. It’s the cleanest room inside of the apartment, too. Nam-gyu had delegated the room to him for this reason alone. It’s just that he can’t clean. Not well. He becomes distracted too easily, and there are so many things he would rather be doing. Cleaning is just so boring.
Thanos steps into the bedroom briefly, in search of Nam-gyu. He does not find him, but instead finds the nightstand drawer on Nam-gyu’s side slightly open. Weird. It’s never like that. Nam-gyu’s very particular about how he handles his things. Though, he’d been cleaning the bedroom. Maybe he needed to step out for a moment.
He doesn’t mean to be nosy, but he’s curious. Had Nam-gyu found something that made him need to step out? Only one way to find out, he figures. He steps around the bed and opens the drawer. Immediately, he wishes he hadn’t.
Inside of the drawer is a myriad of needles, some used and some new. Thanos swallows. Why would they be in Nam-gyu’s drawer? Nam-gyu said he’d quit all of that once they’d moved in together. He recognizes that he’s a hypocrite, that he’d said the same thing about his own issues yet he still continues to indulge in them when Nam-gyu isn’t around. But his issue is less serious. His issue is more controllable. Had Nam-gyu not listened to him when he cried and begged him to stop using? Had that not been enough? What would be enough?
No, he tells himself. Nam-gyu wouldn’t do this. It must be a misunderstanding. The drawer is the last place anyone would look. Perhaps Nam-gyu had just forgotten to throw them out. Perhaps he’d found them laying there, and he’d been so overwhelmed that he needed to take a minute to calm down outside. That must be it. Nam-gyu wouldn’t lie to him like that. Maybe he himself would, but not Nam-gyu.
Thanos turns around, and Kitty hobbles in. She stops in the doorway and eyes Thanos curiously. Thanos sighs, and walks away from the nightstand. He kneels down in front of Kitty and sticks his hand out to scratch under her chin. She jolts away from him, though, and hisses.
“What the hell?” he asks, indignant. “You don’t do that to Nam-gyu. What’s your deal?”
And as if summoned, Nam-gyu appears too, standing behind Kitty, phone pressed against his ear. Muffled words can be heard on the other end.
Thanos will wait until he hangs up to ask about the needles.
But then Nam-gyu begins talking, and begrudgingly, he says, “Yes, her name is Galactus.” and suddenly, everything is forgotten. Thanos beams with pride. He stands up, and he wraps his arms around Nam-gyu, and Nam-gyu playfully pushes him away.
“Thank you,” he says before hanging up. He glances at Thanos. “She’s got an appointment on Friday.”
“You like the name!” Thanos exclaims, the surprise evident on his face.
“Don’t let it get to your head,” he scoffs. “You don’t get to name anything else ever again.”
“That’s fine by me,” he says, and he grins.