Chapter Text
The first time Tiger met Lynx was at Lynx’s mother’s funeral.
He stood waif-like in solid black amongst the white of the lily wreaths. His eyes–dark dark brown–were ringed red and a few errant strands of his black hair framed his flushed face from where they peaked out of a drawn low hat. Time slowed to a crawl as the words Tiger wanted to say died in his throat.
Lynx looked small… fragile.
A breeze carrying petrichor sauntered through the open air crematorium, mingling with the sweet scent of incense and decaying flowers. Lynx swayed with it, like he was frail enough even that gentle wind could carry him away.
In so many ways, he looked just like Je had the night she passed…
Anger bubbled up and Tiger worked to reanimate the dead phrases, questions, and curses. His necromantic attempt failed once more as Lynx’s slow motion collapse began. Tiger moved without hesitation, sweeping forward to cup Lynx’s limp form close. He was light, shockingly, and as he fell, the hat on his head slipped.
In the low light, something soft and orange sprouted from Lynx’s head. It was a cat ear, mottled in darker orange stripes and, when Tiger touched it, warm and velvety soft.
And so very real.
—
Tiger had managed to tug the cap back over the appendage and had even managed to assuage the guests' concerns for Lynx.
“He just overheated,” he explained while cradling Lynx’s limp form close to his chest.
With minimal effort, he found a place away from the crowd to sequester them into. The clutter from previous funerals and other odds and ends was less than ideal but the dusty, unused floor cushion could be pulled out and laid out into a makeshift palette. He lowered Lynx onto it, all the while cupping Lynx’s head and awkwardly maneuvering so that it could rest comfortably in Tiger’s lap.
The warmth of Lynx’s cheek bled into Tiger’s upper thigh, pressing unnatural heat into the skin past his starched dress pants. The pink hue high in Lynx’s face suddenly seemed ruddier and more serious in the low light of the storage room. Tiger released a breath through his nose.
“You’re a handful,” he uttered. “How did you survive as a stray all this time, na?”
He carded his fingers through the fringe of hair peeking from the cap and found it starting to become damp and tacky with sweat. His hand followed the motion naturally and swept away the hat. Two orange cat ears, the fur slightly squashed and messy from perspiration and, presumably, being pinned down, sprang into the open air. They drooped slightly, as though the tips were weighted down.
Tiger stared at them for a long time, brain still scrambling to comprehend their existence. Were they elaborate animatronics or costume dressing?
He tossed the hat off to the side and gingerly slid the freed hand under Lynx’s head. His scar toughened fingers moved with a tenderness that his job didn’t usually allot him, gliding across smooth skin to cup under Lynx’s chin. Cupid bow lip parted, Lynx uttering the softest complaint at the jostling but not moving to wake up or free himself.
Tiger scoffed, half smiling crookedly. His free hand set to work stroking along the slightly wet but silky soft fur. The flesh underneath the pelt was hotter than Lynx’s feverish face. Tiger pinched one between his index and thumb and gently tugged; it didn’t move, seemingly attached. He followed the curve of them to the crown of Lynx’s head and then straight onto his scalp, the fur transitioning seamlessly into dark brown hair and slightly less warm human skin.
Pulling away, Tiger lowered Lynx’s face back down, whispering under his breath, “What are you?”
Lynx didn’t answer, instead snuggling in closer with a grumble.
Tiger sighed and, almost by instinct, stroked Lynx’s hair.
“Khrap, Khun Miao…” he whispered wistfully.