Chapter Text
"Robert, I— This isn’t my for—forte," Herman reminded the dispatcher. The small room was filled to the brim with cages, half of them occupied by anxious cats. Their voices carried through the stale air. He really wanted to rescue them immediately, but prior experience had taught him that cats and water didn’t mix that well. Or at all.
If only…
Maybe, if he had more control over his powers, he’d actually be able to do this.
The thought only furthered his anxiety, water gathering in his throat, blocking his airway, and heightening the constant panic always lurking in the back of his mind. Nervous fingers twiddled with the fabric of his suit, waiting for aid in the form of his boss's calming voice.
"Waterboy, there’s nobody I can send for back-up." The words stung. He nervously eyed the trapped cats while he listened to Robert’s firm voice: "You can do this, okay? I know you can. Just think of them as your grandma’s cats, yeah?"
Usually, Robert’s voice inspired previously undiscovered confidence in him.
Not today.
"Al— O-Okay…" He dragged his hand over the first lock, familiar dread holding him back from opening the door.
This was his job.
He was getting paid for helping people.
And he knew that.
But during moments like these, the selfish part of him wished he had just stayed the helpful janitor SDN had seen him as. But no wishing or praying would get him out of this right now, the only way out was to get the job done, more or, rather, less successfully.
Herm took another deep breath and slid back the small metal bar.
"He—Hey there," Herm’s voice was soft, hushed, trying not to frighten the animal any more than it already was. A faint click, and the metal door swung open, allowing him to reach inside. Immediately, his gloved hand was being swatted at. Claws remained stuck in the material, pulling, screaming, and complaining while he attempted to free both of them. "Ouch! N-No, wait…that’s not— Shi—"
Finally, he managed to pull back, hand aching, and his glove ripped at the seams. The perpetrator had positioned himself in the furthest corner, staring at the hero with contempt in its huge eyes. He could only huff in frustration, knowing this wouldn’t end well for either of them. "E-Easy…"
Under incessant complaining, which agitated all the other cats around, Herman managed to get a grip on the cat, taking it out and hurrying outside as fast as he could. Sharp claws dug through his suit, scratching him, and more than once, he barely managed to avoid getting bitten.
The vet techs outside immediately rid him of his furry assailant, giving him judgmental looks he could only escape by running inside again to get the next animal. Thankfully, the fire was spreading slowly, kept at bay by the water he’d sprayed all over the walls, floor, and ceiling. It wouldn’t hold off forever, but it gave him time to rescue the animals, and the fire department a chance to strangle the dancing flames.
"G-Good kitty," Herman attempted his luck a second time, immediately met with a low growl that actually made him pause in fear before he reluctantly reached inside. "Okay, please don’t—"
This mission was a disaster.
The last cat managed to swipe across his face, missing his eye by mere inches. It left him with stinging scratches and bruises from the attempted bites that had only been obstructed by the thick fabric of his wetsuit. Under the watchful eyes of firefighters, veterinarians, and onlookers, he felt more pathetic than ever before.
He informed Robert about the completed mission, his feet dragging over the asphalt as he made his way back to the dispatch centre. Before he could get very far, he noticed a cloaked figure standing just across the street. Usually, this wouldn’t have been enough cause for suspicion, but on the dumpster next to them sat one of those carriers the vet clinic had had.
As he approached, he could hear bits of a conversation the person seemed to be having with someone else, the mention of 'fire’ and 'causing a disturbance' making it pretty clear this person was related to this entire mess.
"Yeah, I got it. Can’t wait to get rid of this thing, I can already feel my allergies acti—"
"H-Hey!" Herm’s voice wavered slightly as he called out. His interjection had killed off the conversation, and Herm realized he couldn’t see the suspect's face behind the weird mask as he rounded the corner to confront them. What he could see were the huge eyes of the frightened cat cowering in the carrier. "That’s— You can’t steal an animal from the vet!"
"Shit," the suspect hastily tried to reach for the carrier, but Herm used his waterspit to push her back. "Ewww, what the fuck? Did you just spit at me?! That’s disgusting!"
"Sor— No, I mean, that’s not your cat," Herm called out through mouthfuls of water. "D-Don’t get… Stay away from the cat and surrender!"
"Forget the cat," a disembodied voice said. Herman looked around for a phone or something from which the voice could have originated. "Just get out of there."
"Ughh, fine," the suspect began to slink back into the dark alley, before she seemed to think differently of it and turned around.
Green energy began to emanate from her hands.
Herm thought she was aiming for the cat and quickly reached for the carrier. Belatedly, he realized that her true target had actually been him. When the green beam hit him, Herman could feel the strange energy wrapping around him, like an invisible vine with large thorns. Just as soon as he’d felt the sensation, it was already gone again, replaced by a feeling that something was deeply wrong.
"Ugly toads like this should just slink back into the holes they crawled out from. Just…uuggghh, disgusting!"
Her last words echoed through the alley as she disappeared, leaving behind nothing but a faint smell of sulfur. Herman felt excess water spilling from his lips, still unsure what exactly had happened just now, or what that weird beam had been.
A soft meow ripped him out of his thoughts.
"Hey— Hi there." The wetsuit squeaked as he squatted down, carefully putting his fingers through the grit of the carrier and giving the cat the opportunity to sniff at them. A faint lick tickled over his exposed skin, and Herman flinched at the unexpected feeling. "Let’s get you back to the nice vets, okay?"
His skin still crawled, remembering that uncomfortable feeling that had just gripped him with its invisible claws. Maybe it was nothing. If he stopped thinking about it, perhaps he would forget all about that horrible feeling of feeling an invisible force grabbing him.
"H-Hey, Robert," Herman paused, knowing that he’d never be so lucky, "I think I just got attacked…saw the person who set the clinic on fire."
Herm couldn’t wait for today’s shift to end.
"The fuck you mean, it’s involuntary, bitch?" Flambae’s hot breath ghosted over Waterboy’s face, the water running down his skin sizzling whenever a drop came into contact with the former villain’s simmering skin. Herman could feel the ridges of the locker press into his back as he was cornered by his hotheaded quasi-colleague. "Is getting your bitch juices all over my civies a fucking joke for you?"
"N-No, it’s— It’s really…" He wanted to go home. Just disappear, and never step foot into this building again. "It’s not…I asked HR for…I requested a bottom locker be—before. They…uhh…they said that they—"
"They said they’d fucking get back to you and didn’t." Flambae finished his sentence for him, clicking his tongue in annoyance. "And because you’re such a little bitch, you haven’t asked why they haven’t gotten back to you."
“I’m…I’m not a bitch,” Herman corrected him, trying his best impression of Robert’s calm and collected tone, which felt so wrong paired with his voice.
“Yeah, you fucking are. So just shu— shu— shut up and accept it. That way you can learn to do absolutely nothing about it because you are, as we’ve already discussed, a b-b-bitch.”
Herm couldn’t understand why Flambae always seemed to pick on him. But between being called disgusting and his supposed team member saying he was bitch, Herman really didn’t want to be associated with either of them anymore.
“Go fuck yourself.”
Trapped in between exhaustion and resignation, those words had slipped out before Herman could even begin to consider the consequences. His lips pressed into a thin line, eyes staring through Flambae as the other hero turned around.
Waterboy could feel the heat before Flambae had even fully ignited, flames licking up a muscular frame that was trained to take on enemies ten times his size.
“What. The Fuck. Did you just say to me, bitch?”
Herman was in no condition to fight back. The insult was his last defiant action of the day, before exhaustion had fully dug its claws into his limbs. He was about to accept his fate of being burned on top of all the injuries he’d already sustained today, when there was suddenly a splash, followed by outraged cursing.
“Are you fucking serious?!”
Robert was standing in the open door, an empty mop bucket in hand, and judging by Flambae’s wetsuit, it was pretty obvious where the dirty mop water had just gone.
“Don’t set off the fire alarms at work.” Robert’s monotonous voice felt like a life ring to Herman. Immediately, he could feel his heart rate drop, the literal waterfall flooding down his back drying up just slightly. "Now apologize, asshole."
"Apologize? I can’t do anything about him being a shitty hero with no control over his powers!" The words stung, and Herm was relieved that those annoying goggles were still covering his eyes. "Want me to change his fucking diapers next?"
"That’s enough!" Robert’s threatening tone was enough to finally make Flambae shut up. Ever since Robert had revealed his identity, the former villain had been more cautious and reserved. Herman wasn’t sure whether it was respect or fear; either way, it was enough to give Robert some much-needed authority as their dispatcher. "Go take a shower. You stink of chemicals."
"I am going to—" The usually powerful flame flickered, dimmed by his still-wet hands, and Flambae could do nothing but huff in rage, unable to let out his rage on either of them without exhausting himself or potentially receiving another water shower from Herman. Flambae’s voice was quieter when he shoulder-checked Robert on his way out, fiery eyes staring at Waterboy as he spoke: "Maybe if you didn’t baby him so much, he’d at least stop being such a fucking pussy on top of an already pathetic bitch."
Robert didn’t respond, waiting until Flambae had left the locker room before he turned back towards Herman.
"Ignore him."
"It’s kind of…really hard to do tha—that," Herm admitted, rubbing his shoulder and realizing that the seams of his suit were sticking out where the cats had dug their claws in the fabric in an attempt to escape. "Did you…Is there anything you need? A spill or a—"
"No, no, it’s fine. We hired another helpful janitor, remember? So you just focus on your actual job." Robert gave him a reassuring smile, those brown eyes not judging him in the least, even though today had been one of his worst performances in a while. "That’s why I’m here, actually. You said you were attacked today. Any symptoms? Do you feel different?"
"No, I’m— I’m fine…good! Nothing out of the ordinary."
"Alright. Your blood work came back clean as well. But if you end up—"
"If anything’s…uhh…if anything’s wrong, I’ll let you know," Herman reassured him, trying to smile. He wanted nothing more than to disappear from sight, and Robert’s worrying, as nice as it was, only reminded him how badly today had gone. "Thanks— Thank you."
"Get home safe, alright," Robert patted him on the back, the suit squelching after being drenched, and Herm squirmed at the sound. "See you tomorrow."
"Yep…Yes, see you…" Herman deflated as Robert disappeared from view. "…tomorrow."
The sun was beginning to set over Torrence by the time Herman finally exited the building.
His limbs felt like lead, and even the last warming rays of the evening sun couldn’t offer up any comfort. His neck ached, eyes burning as he made his way through the empty parking lot, shivering when a cold breeze brushed over wet skin.
Maybe Flambae was right.
Maybe he was a useless—
Herman attempted to stop his thoughts from spiraling, taking a deep breath and slowly touching his fingers to his thumb. One after the other. His school counselor had taught him that trick when she’d attempted to help him with his anxiety back when his insurance hadn’t covered therapy. It still didn’t, but by now, he’d gotten used to his anxiety never improving. It was just a constant mixture of heart palpitations, nervous water-sweating, and self-doubt wrecking his body, like a background noise.
A horrible, constant background noise.
Sure, today had gone terribly. Just as most days had gone terribly for the past weeks. But that didn’t mean tomorrow wouldn’t be that one day of the week when he lucked out and got assigned some calls he was at least partially qualified for.
At least today’s shift was over, and his day couldn’t get any worse.
Suddenly, that uncomfortable feeling from earlier returned. And it felt ten times worse than before. Like insect legs, Herman could feel an invisible force wrapping around his chest, trapping him as needling pain began to pierce his flesh. The sensations were debilitating, disorienting, and Herman couldn’t even tell which bones had just broken when he heard cracks coming from his own limbs.
The agonizing pain made him double over, hands scraping over the dirty concrete, water dripping off his body, and pooling around his limbs. His mouth opened in a silent scream, lungs burning, aching, devoid of air since it felt as though it had been ripped straight from his chest.
Herman’s brain reacted in the only way it could right now, the world disappearing before his eyes without him even getting a chance to understand what was wrong.
When he finally woke up again, he couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but it must have been at least an hour, going by the way the faulty street lights illuminated the almost empty parking lot of SDN.
Herman’s first thought was the realization was that he couldn’t move his fingers.
The second being that he must have collapsed on the floor, everything around him suddenly appearing to be much bigger than it had looked before.
Only when Herman attempted to get off the floor did he realize that something was truly wrong because he couldn’t get off his hands and knees.
Which sounded like a funny innuendo, until one was actually in that situation and suddenly nothing about this entire thing was funny anymore.
His neck still ached as he craned to check and see if there was anyone around who might be able to help him. When he looked to his right, he made eye contact with a scared-looking cat, the poor thing probably just as confused as he felt, mirroring his movements and turning its head.
…Turning its head, just as he did.
Blinking at the same time, Herman did.
Opening its snout as though it wanted to say something, but no sound came out.
Just as he was doing.
Herman quickly turned his head, attempting to put it off to coincidence, his concussed mind playing tricks on him. Instead, his gaze landed on what was supposed to be his hands.
Instead, now there were paws covered in fur and adorned with sharp-looking claws.
He could feel the anxiety shaking his frame, his entire body shivering as he stared at the cat again, turning so he could get a better look, only to have the cat mirror him.
Because, as Herman finally realized, it was him.
He was looking at his own reflection through the hubcap of the car parked beside him.
If this were a bad dream, it was an incredibly ironic one. Herman, turning into a cat, the species that hated him and his powers more than any other. The one pet he’d always wanted to have and cuddle, now just as untouchable and out of reach.
Herman felt like crying, and he was forced to realize he didn’t even know whether he could.
"Hey," a soft voice called out, and Herman could feel the relief wash over him at the thought of being rescued. When he turned, stumbling over his own two hands, he wound up staring into flaring eyes, dimmed by the huge orange sunglasses covering a stubbled face.
Flambae was towering over him.
There were exactly two things that kept Herm from quitting his job because of his fear of the fiery 'hero'.
Firstly, his water powers meant that he was incredibly hard to set on fire, and could usually put out Flambae’s fist, as he’d proven after the bar fight. And secondly, if he stood upright, he was just slightly taller than the former villain, which seemed enough to make Flambae at least reluctantly respect him.
Both of these things were no longer applicable in this situation, and he could feel every minor moment of fear towards the hero accumulate in an instant. Every scary aspect about him had just increased tenfold, and dread dug its ugly fingers into Herman as he could only think of fleeing under the first car he could reach.
Rapid scratching could be heard as his unfamiliar claws dug into the concrete ground, pebbles flying everywhere as he crawled under the car, peeking out around the wheel to see whether Flambae was still there. Annoyingly, the car was so low that he couldn’t get a good look at the man, staring at expensive-looking shoes and the bottom of Flambae’s pants, unable to make out his intentions or expressions from this angle.
Still, he was beginning to feel safer already, comforted by the knowledge that he wouldn’t be able to get him from underneath the car without setting it on fire.
Oh God.
Flambae could just set this car on fire if he wanted to.
The rustling of fabric ripped him from his thoughts, and Herman watched as Flambae slowly began to sit down on the dirty asphalt, cowering more with every inch the man lowered himself to the ground. Finally, Waterboy caught a look at Flambae’s face, his expression feeling softer now, even though there was still that ever-present scowl on his face.
"Hey, baby." It took Herman a moment to realize Flambae was talking to him. His voice was soft, careful, so full of everything the former villain was not. The words carried a higher tone, like someone talking to a newborn they’d just met for the first time. "It’s alright, don’t be scared."
Herm could feel his ears flicker as Flambae rubbed his fingers together, reaching out his hand. It was an offer. A dangerous one, because Waterboy wasn’t sure what had happened, and when or if he would turn back. He just knew that if he did turn back while he was still in Flambae’s proximity, then all hell would break loose.
"Come on, it’s alright. Come here."
It was such an odd thing, listening to Flambae’s voice speak with no edge to his voice, no barely suppressed aggression shining through. Whenever he looked up, Waterboy could feel himself getting whiplash from trying to connect that caring tone with Flambae’s face.
"Baby, as pretty as you are, and as much as I would like to respect your space, but you are sitting under my car. And I would really like to get home today." Herman attempted to look around at the car, hitting his head as he did so. A stifled snort made him snap back around to stare up at Flambae, watching as the grown man attempted to hide his giggling behind a raised hand. "Sorry. I’m sorry. Are you okay?"
Herman was in no condition to respond.
And a cat definitely wouldn’t have been able to.
But Flambae just kept on yapping on, complimenting him, and talking about his car as though the random cat he’d just met in the parking lot would be able to understand or agree with him. Slowly, Herman began to crawl out again, staying ducked in case Flambae suddenly attempted to change his tone.
Their eyes locked, and Herman froze in place, just waiting for any sort of response. Instead, Flambae slowly scooted backward, still holding out his hand. Fiery eyes looked down at his own palm, before he extended it just a little further again.
Waterboy wasn’t sure who this kind man with the patience of a saint was, but he didn’t resemble his angry coworker in the least. Aside from the fact that they obviously shared a face and body.
Cautiously, Herman approached Flambae. His hand opened further the closer Waterboy got, until he was mere inches away from him. In slow motion, Flambae raised his hand before he finally placed it atop Herman’s head. The former villain gave him plenty of time to pull away. When Herman didn’t, he finally started to move his fingers, carefully petting him, letting warm fingers drag through short fur.
"You’re a pretty one, aren't you?" Flambae’s voice ripped Herman out of his temporary delusions, and he jerked back.
Right, this wasn’t actually a good person he was sitting next to. And Flambae’s sudden change in character, while surprising, wouldn’t help him solve the obvious issue of having been turned into a cat. When Flambae’s hands reached out to pet him a second time, Herman couldn’t control his instinctual reaction to shield himself, swiping at the former villain’s hand.
The violent swearing it elicited seemed proof enough that Herman’s safest option was to duck underneath the dumpsters next to Flambae’s car, hiding away until he could finally see Flambae giving up. He watched as the shoes stepped around Flambae’s car, staying hidden until he saw the wheels beginning to roll out of the parking spot. His shoulders ached as Herm squeezed out from underneath his new hiding spot, catching one last look at the former villain before he drove away.
The relief was short-lived, as Herman heard a loud thunder echoing through the empty parking lot. Not a second later, the first drop of rain landed on his head. Not for the first time in his life, he was confronted with his body getting more and more drenched in cold water, as he sat on the dirty asphalt, still struggling to understand what had happened to him.
His melancholy was quickly interrupted, tires screeching to a halt in the pouring rain, before a car door opened. Herman looked up, staring at the exact cat that had just left the parking lot.
"Alright, this might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done." Flambae eyed him through his sunglasses, almost as though they were trying to determine if this random cat before him would judge him. "Come here, baby. You wanna come home with me?"
All the doubt in Waterboy’s mind died the second a lightning bolt darted across the sky, and before he could even really judge whether Flambae’s invitation had been genuine, he was already sitting in the passenger seat of the expensive car, ducking to allow Flambae to close the car door behind him. As the man leaned over him, Herman could feel the heat radiating off his skin, Flambae’s shirt slipping down a bit, giving the transformed hero a face full of his muscular chest.
"There you go," Flambae leaned back a bit, shooting Herm a smile that had never been directed at him before. He stumbled over himself as the hero suddenly accelerated, his body pressed into the soft leather seat before he could collect himself.
Flambae drove exactly as Waterboy had experienced on the day of his job interview. Wild, reckless, and so inherently him in every negative sense of the word. Street lamps flew by like comets, replaced by another, and another, as they made their way through LA.
“Don’t scratch my seats or we're going to have a problem, alright?” Flambae’s voice wasn’t as high-pitched as it had been when Herman had first run into him after his transformation. But underneath his accent and deeper voice, the same softness remained. Even while he was threatening him.
As if a cat could possibly understand and follow his orders.
Herman, on the other hand, could, and would, because he knew just how quickly Flambae’s temper could resurface. Nervously, he raised his new paws to check he wasn’t accidentally piercing the leather, relieved to find everything unharmed.
“Fuck, you’re adorable,” Flambae reached out again, and Herman was certain he was attempting to reach for him before the pyromaniac’s hand turned on the radio, lazily hopping through the various radio stations before the villain paused on some random pop song.
The rain prattled on, water running down the windshield, as the bright beat echoed through the car in sync with the windshield wipers. Herman listened to the song, thoughts racing now that he wasn’t in danger of being run over or out in the rain anymore.
The suspicious person in the alley must have done something to him when they’d attacked him. He’d been cursed, or hexed, or something completely different from that.
Whatever it was called, it didn’t change the fact that he was a cat for the time being. The belated realization that he should have waited for Robert at the SDN to get help in the morning struck him, leaving Herman frozen in utter defeat, exhaling very slowly in a desperate attempt to relieve some exhaustion.
“What do you have going on in your life that makes you sigh like a forty-year-old guy in a fucking midlife crisis?” Flambae raised an amused eyebrow, staring at Herman instead of the ongoing traffic around them. “You don’t have to pay taxes. Can’t be bothered by your incompetent colleagues. Shit, man, I wish I were a cat.”
Every single cell in Herman’s body wanted to scream.
Of course, Flambae managed to antagonize him without even knowing he was here.
Only he would have that kind of rotten luck.
"Well, at least we’re both dry, right? I know someone who definitely isn’t right now, so let’s just count ourselves lucky." Herman needed a second to realize he was talking about him, unsure whether Flambae’s words were genuine pity or just another insult on top of all those injuries he’d already sustained today. "Shit, just thinking about it is pissing me off."
The former villain didn’t elaborate, and Waterboy couldn’t ask him. And even if he could, he wouldn’t have dared to anyway. Before he could make any further assumptions about what Flambae had been thinking about, Herman was ripped out of his thoughts by the screeching of wet tires grinding to a halt.
"Alright, now to get you inside as dry as possible," Flambae paused, giving Herman a look as though he wasn’t quite sure what to do with him. The moment Flambae opened his jacket to look down his shirt, Waterboy knew he really didn’t like where this was heading.
Somehow, Flambae understood how to interpret the dubious eyes of a cat because he immediately switched tones, from uncertain to exasperated: "Alright, listen, I don’t fucking like this either. But it’s either gonna be that, or you walking through the pouring rain, smartass."
To prove his point, Flambae opened the car door and pointed into the rain.
Herman took the opportunity and hopped out of the car, stumbling over Flambae’s thighs under the panicked cursing from the former villain. Once he sat in the rain, Waterboy turned around to pointendly stare up at him.
"You’re not…I thought you were going to run away."
Herman could feel his tail flick with impatience, the freezing cold slowly creeping into his joints as he waited for Flambae to finally get a move on, watching as the man awkwardly climbed out of the car, keeping a watchful eye on Herm the entire time.
"Alright." A dull thud followed Flambae’s words, and Herman watched as the former villain held out an umbrella for him. It seemed ridiculous, a scary-looking asshole escorting a cat under the biggest umbrella Herm had ever seen. But Flambae didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, as they entered the apartment complex and Flambae closed the umbrella again, Herman noticed that one side of the former villain’s shirt was completely drenched.
The door to his apartment looked unassuming, and Herman would have never guessed this was where Flambae resided.
A smoky scent clung to everything in the apartment. Warm red and orange tones were present in every piece of decoration, the furniture looking expensive and well-used at the same time. Everything in the apartment made Herman think immediately that this wasn’t just a house; it was someone’s home.
"It’s not huge, but…yeah, just…uhh…just make yourself welcome, alright?" Flambae slowly stepped around him, dropping his bag on the floor before he walked into another room and out of sight.
In lieu of being able to do anything else, Herman followed him, his eyes soaking up everything he’d never expected to ever see. Family pictures, fading wallpaper, huge carpets covering the ground. He was so enraptured that he hadn’t noticed Flambae had stopped moving. Unexpectedly, Herman collided with his calf, stumbling back in confusion, and hearing another laugh before he was picked up and sat down on the counter facing the former villain.
"You’re hungry, aren't you?" Flambe’s voice was still so kind, and despite Herman's inability to get used to it, it did comfort him in the strangest of ways. "Luckily for you, I’m having chicken for dinner."
Herman wasn’t quite sure how lucky that made him, because he really didn’t want to eat raw chicken. He would prefer it over cat food, sure, but even just being in Flambae’s presence made him unable to swallow anything but his own words.
He shrank back when Flambae’s hand suddenly caught on fire. Instead of lighting up Herman, though, the former villain simply placed a pan on his hand, dumping oil into it without even looking at the pan. Herman watched in fascination as Flambae started preparing his food, as if he were a professional chef rather than just the least-bad hero on the Z-Team.
Performance-wise.
Flambae cooked in a way that was entirely unfamiliar to Herman. When he was in the kitchen, he always jumbled over what to do first: the water boiling while he had his hands full, ingredients dropping to the floor, and water sizzling on the stove as Herm attempted to stop the salt from dissolving in his hands.
Flambae, on the other hand, almost seemed to fall into a trance, eyes not even looking at his fingers while he cut the meat, instinctively reaching for utensils Herman would have already dropped multiple times. He layered all the ingredients in one pot and turned the entire thing over onto a plate at the end.
Herman was so captivated by the performance, he didn’t even mind how often Flambae bent down to praise and compliment him, or shrink back whenever he was suddenly petted or scratched behind his ears.
"Here you go," Flambae said while he placed a smaller portion of his meal down before Herman.
He’d even gone as far as to decorate it with a single leaf of parsley.
It was adorable, in the strangest of ways.
The dish looked amazing, and smelled even better. Even in this form, Herman could tell he’d been going hungry for far too long. Once Flambae had left the kitchen, Herman awkwardly picked up his food with his claws, trying and often failing to transport the bites to his mouth. Somehow, he succeeded in the end, about to celebrate his success, when Flambae reentered the kitchen, washing the dishes and humming some song Herm didn’t know.
Herman was so lost in thought, he didn’t even notice Flambae approach him. With only an hour or so having passed since he’d been transformed, he still hadn’t gotten used to being easily picked up and manhandled, his stomach doing backflips while he was spun around and placed on the kitchen floor. While Flambae continued to clean his kitchen, Herm could do nothing but watch on, his upbringing making him uncomfortable with exploring a stranger’s home without their explicit consent.
His ears twitched as he heard Flambae’s hiss briefly while washing his hands. He rubbed his skin carefully, the exact spot where Herman had struck him earlier.
Herm couldn’t help but feel slightly bad, all that animosity between them forgotten after the kindness he’d received today. Deep down, he knew that this was temporary, and only because in the former villain’s eyes, Herm was just a cat he’d picked up.
And yet…
"Okay, you little beast." Warm hands suddenly grabbed him, carrying him through the apartment as Herman could do nothing but awkwardly paddle through the air, completely dependent on Flambae not accidentally dropping him.
Just like everything else in Flambae’s apartment, the couch was just as nice and comfortable. Pillows and blankets decorated it, and Herman could feel his claws dig into the soft fabric when Flambae threw himself onto the other end of the couch, unlocking his phone and scrolling through social media without paying Herman any mind.
Tomorrow, Herman needed to somehow get in touch with Robert. Maybe follow Flambae to work, or hope they weren’t too far from his neighborhood, so he could potentially check in on his grandma and then contact Robert. Perhaps this was temporary, and he’d turn back on his own before long.
Hopefully, out of sight of Flambae, but at this point, he’d take turning back at all over some bodily harm if the former villain ever did find out whom he’d shared a meal and his apartment with today.
Flambae’s couch was comfortable, and to the unintelligible talk coming from the phone speakers, Herman could feel his exhaustion steadily starting to replace the dulling fear and anxiety. His eyelids fluttered, heavy as lead, and he could feel sleep overtake him. Finally, his head dropped, and in lieu of any resistance, he fell asleep.
He wasn’t quite sure when exactly he woke up next; it was dark, warm, a comfortable heat enveloping him, rising and falling with every breath he took. Herman attempted to open his eyes, fighting his grogginess and slowly gaining the upper hand.
“Shhhhh, it’s all good. You’re safe. Keep sleeping,” a comforting voice reassured him. He attempted to open his eyes again, but the soothing voice continued to talk to him, telling him that everything was alright. Sleep used this opportunity to regain control, slowly lulling him under again.
If the comforting voice told him that everything was fine, who was he to question it?
Besides, he hadn’t been this tired in ages.