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Tiger is possibly the worst debt collector in history. He's simply not cut out for the work his father wants him to do. It’s not a secret. “Tiger wears his heart on his sleeve,” his mother used to say. The fact that said heart is apparently a bleeding one is just tough luck.
He has always hated the look of fear on his targets’ faces when they see him coming. Tiger never wants to hurt anyone, but that doesn’t mean he never has.
It’s those moments that stick with him the longest, waking him up at night and making getting out of bed feel like an astronomical task.
Lately, however, Tiger has started to look forward to the days again. Some mornings, he even gets up a little earlier, hoping he might catch Lynx before he’s fixed his hair and still wears it adorably messy.
It's been happening less and less because Lynx is starting to get used to Tiger showing up unannounced. Tiger mourns the loss of that beautiful sight, but the idea that Lynx is starting to accept his presence, even just a little bit, makes him feel warm and mushy inside.
He smiles dreamily, remembering Lynx’s hesitant touch on his back and the unconscious way he’d reached out in his sleep. Tiger can’t remember the last time someone sought comfort from him like that. It’s intoxicating, this strange hot-and-cold dynamic Lynx has going on.
Like with a toxic ex, Tiger finds himself chasing the warmth in Lynx’s eyes, the warmth that makes him feel needed and appreciated, only to be faced with the cold when Lynx seeks out someone else and turns his back.
It hurts more than is probably justified for the short period they’ve known each other, but Tiger doesn’t mind. Lynx’s barriers are already showing cracks, and Tiger knows that if he is patient enough, Lynx will let him through soon.
Tiger gives his reflection an encouraging thumbs up before reaching for the nondescript white pot of allergy medication he keeps in his car. He shakes it…
nothing comes out. The bottle is empty.
Shit.
Tiger is usually much better at keeping track of his prescriptions, especially his allergy medication. He has to be. As a person who loves cats, it’s crucial he always has it on hand. Je Meow is the whole reason he started keeping it in his car, never wanting to miss an opportunity to visit the cafe.
A wave of sadness ripples through him as he thinks of her and the way he’d felt her die in his arms, her last breath against his cheek. Tiger grips the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. He doesn’t want to remember, not today. He has enough to worry about with her stubborn son and his new, apparent love interest.
Immediately, Tiger’s brain conjures an image of a handsome face with puppy-dog eyes, and his blood starts to boil. He won’t let an itchy nose stop him from spending time with Lynx. If he does if he misses a notoriously busy day like today then that vet might swoop in and save the day.
Lynx now has his number, and he’s already said he feels bad asking Tiger for help. What if he calls that dog instead? Lynx has let him touch him before. They’ve been friends for years. Lynx trusts him.
There’s no way Tiger is going to let that happen. His hand tightens dangerously on the empty medication pot before he throws it into the backseat, making a note to order more later.
There’s nothing he can do about it now, anyway. Drugstore medication isn’t strong enough, but it will at least keep some symptoms in check. Sure, he’ll be in discomfort for a few hours, but at least he won’t lose Lynx to anyone today!
For the first time since they’ve met, Tiger shows up late to the cafe. There are already customers on the terrace, but luckily the morning rush doesn’t seem to have started yet. He watches Lynx for a moment through the glass, anxiously rubbing the back of his neck as he awkwardly chats with a customer. Usually, Tiger handles the customer service jobs for that exact reason.
He feels a little bad, but Tiger also can’t help but smile at the small dusting of pink on Lynx’s cheeks. It couldn’t be helped, anyway; there are apparently very few drugstores in the neighborhood, so he’s had to drive around for a while to find what he needed. Even then, the medication he’d found was less than ideal.
Tiger takes a deep breath, possibly the last comfortable one he’ll take for a while, pops a pill in his mouth to swallow dry, and steps inside.
Lynx’s eyes shoot to him immediately, so Tiger raises his hands in a disarming gesture that does nothing to diffuse his business partner’s obvious annoyance.
“You’re late!” John Wick meows from where he’s curled up comfortably at Lynx’s side. The spy cat seems to do that a lot since his accident, sticking to Lynx like a personal shadow. Tiger gives him an apologetic bow and a sheepish smile. “No need to apologize to me. Nong Lynx was the worried one.”
“I swear he was about to put a pot on his head and go looking for you,” Jiro joins in with obvious amusement.
Tiger smirks at the mental image, but when he turns to face Lynx, the man’s eyes are cold and annoyed. So, Tiger bends down in an even deeper bow until he hears Lynx scoff. The sound holds more amusement than pure annoyance, so Tiger decides to count it as a win and starts to spin a tale about an unforeseen circumstance making him run late.
“Just… call me next time, please,” Lynx sighs, accepting Tiger’s apology while absentmindedly running a hand through John Wick’s fur, interpreting his meow as discomfort. Tiger smiles at the gesture. For someone who claims to dislike cats, Lynx is starting to grow remarkably attached.
“Aw, were you worried about me?” Tiger can’t help but tease, bending closer so Lynx can’t miss the mischievous sparkle in his eyes. Lynx rolls his eyes, planting his palm resolutely in the middle of Tiger’s chest to push him back out of his personal space.
Tiger pouts dramatically, but before he can think of something flirty to say, he feels a tickle in his nose. The sneeze follows only a moment later, startling John Wick enough to make him jump from the counter and run under a table. The move kicks up hair, and after four more sneezes, Tiger finally manages to catch his breath enough to feel something run down his upper lip.
Something presses against his palm, he knows they are tissues, even though his eyes are watering too much to properly see. At least he knows that the biggest blur is Lynx, and in the grand scheme of things, that’s all that really matters.
“That’s never happened before. Are your allergies bad today?” Even though he’d been teasing earlier, Tiger can clearly hear the worry in his voice now. It makes something flutter pleasantly in his chest while simultaneously making him uncomfortable. He doesn’t want Lynx to worry, not just from a personal point, but also because it means Lynx might send him home and invite someone else to help instead.
“They are,” Tiger says, because there really is no point in lying when the truth is so obvious. Lynx’s eyes widen comically, and Tiger wishes his own eyes weren’t starting to burn so he could stare a little longer. “I ran out of my usual meds, so I had to get some from the drugstore.”
“And they work the same?” Tiger smiles fondly at the question, that same warm and fluttery feeling in his stomach returning as Lynx studies his face with obvious distrust. Maybe he can’t breathe as comfortably here, but the comfort he feels now far outshines any allergy symptoms.
“Not… quite,” Tiger confesses sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck while he tries to find the least incriminating way to explain the side effects of chlorpheniramine. He spent years on the drug before his mom finally took him to a doctor to get a prescription. A little drowsiness is a small price to pay. “They should kick in any second now. I’ll be fine.”
There’s an obvious war waging in Lynx’s eyes, but before he can protest, another customer shows up. Lynx sighs deeply, raising a threatening finger in his direction that has Tiger fighting a fond smile. “Fine, but I’m putting you on bar duty today, and you’re not allowed inside the cat room.”
Tiger nods solemnly, but as they pass each other behind the bar, he can’t help but lean in close. He feels Lynx freeze, his eyes wide when he feels Tiger’s breath against the shell of his ear. Tiger feels almost drunk on the reaction. “It’s okay. Then I’ll just get my cat fix from you today.”
“You’re crazy,” Lynx chokes out, scrambling away to create distance between them. The plan monumentally backfires when a cat chooses that moment to get the zoomies and run in front of his feet.
Lynx loses his balance, his flailing arms hitting a cup of straws and sending them clattering to the ground, which makes the startled cat take off again. Tiger doesn’t think twice about rushing forward and catching Lynx, all the while fighting a sudden rush of itchiness in his nose. He wants nothing less than to sneeze all over the man he’s trying to win over, but his body has different plans.
Horrified, he tries to hide his face in his shoulder. He’s pretty sure this must be the least flattering impression he could leave, but when he looks back, Lynx doesn’t look disgusted at all. Instead, he offers a grateful smile and another tissue. Tiger thinks his body might just spontaneously combust at the sight.
“You guys are cute, but I would really like to order now,” an elderly lady pipes up from behind the counter. Lynx quickly jumps away from him, avoiding eye contact as he hurries into the cafe to start cleaning tables and taking orders.
Cute, Tiger thinks wistfully as he watches him go.
The thing with chlorpheniramine is that it works fast, but when it hits, it hits hard.
At first, things are fine. Slowly but surely, the irritation in his airways starts to lessen, and Tiger thinks he must look better, too, when Lynx starts to seem visibly more relaxed. All in all, it's good. Lynx even lets John Wick return to the bar for a while when he sees the cat curl up as far from Tiger as possible.
“Will you really be okay, Tiger?” the cat asks when Tiger absentmindedly scratches his neck. It’s more an unconscious move than an actual symptom, smiling reassuringly at the black cat and telling him he has nothing to worry about.
“Who are you talking to?” Tiger freezes. His body is usually so attuned to Lynx’s presence that the sudden arrival catches him off guard. Lynx is balancing a tray that’s much too full to be comfortable, waiting for Tiger to let him pass.
Instead, Tiger quickly takes it out of his hands, ignoring the sounds of protest. It’s a busy day in the cafe; normally Tiger would be helping on the floor, but while he’s stuck here, he can at least help Lynx this much. “You don’t have to do that. I can do it myself.”
“I know,” Tiger says easily, and he plans to leave it at that, he really does, but without his consent, his words continue. “But I want to do it for you.”
Lynx opens his mouth, gaping like a fish on land, until Tiger realizes what he’s just said and tries to backpedal. “I mean… it’s busy out there, so I want to help you here at the bar… so you can go back faster… for the cats.”
“Right.” The word drips with disbelief but also a hint of amusement, which is what Tiger decides to cling to until he has enough time to dig a hole and bury himself in it. Surprisingly, Lynx lets him get away with it this time, seemingly more preoccupied by something on Tiger’s face.
Tiger feels his head spinning as Lynx takes another step forward. There’s a small frown line between Lynx's brows, and Tiger wishes he could lean forward and kiss it away. He might have, too, if Lynx hadn’t stepped back right after.
He hears John Wick snickering as Tiger allows his body to sag against the back bar.
Fuck, he’s way too far gone, Tiger thinks, dropping his face into his hands with a loud groan. The sound morphs into a small cry when something cold suddenly hits his skin. Lynx smirks at him, proudly presenting a small bottle of eye drops.
“Your eyes are red again.” he explains smugly, proudly showing off that he has remembered Tiger’s words from that night. “I got these. Pom said they should help…. Are you okay?”
Tiger is decidedly not okay, his blood is boiling. The casual mention of the vet forcing a wave of indignant energy through his system. “You called a vet for health advice? For me?!”
Lynx blinks at the sudden outburst before covering his amused smile with his hand. Tiger pouts dramatically. Lynx called Dr. Pom. Lynx has never called Tiger. That idea hurts.
“I panicked! Do you know how many types of eye drops there are?!” Tiger can’t deny that the idea of Lynx taking time and energy to find him the right things is flattering. If only he hadn’t called that dog for help.
“You could have called me,” he mumbles, his voice soft because his airways are burning now and he doesn’t want Lynx to think he’s crying. In his periphery, he watches Lynx roll his eyes, take the drops from his hand, and push him over to a bar stool.
“Are you still jealous?” Tiger sits heavily on the seat, letting Lynx dictate how he moves his head. His burning eyes would have made it difficult to do himself anyway, so this is the best option.
He’s about to shake his head no when Lynx tightens his grip on his chin, so Tiger gives in. “You never call me.”
“Because you’re always here,” Lynx points out with an eye roll, and that, as far as Tiger is concerned, is the only right answer.
Tiger feels a little unsteady when he stands up, but at least his heart feels much lighter now.
“You look terrible,” Jiro meows, loud enough that even behind the glass, Tiger can hear him. He sends the cat a glare, a move jerky and sudden enough to startle the customer whose coffee he’s making.
He hands his current Franken-coffee over to a confused girl in a floral dress who clearly plans to complain until their eyes meet and she looks away in alarm. So he looks that bad, huh?
“We don’t want to watch you die, too!” another cat cries, and Tiger begs for them to please shut up.
His chest tightens at a memory. He reaches up, resting two fingers against his pulse point like he’d done for her that night. His heart is racing fast enough to take his breath away, making it sound wheezy. Hers hadn’t felt like that, weak from the start before it disappeared completely.
“What are you yelling about?” Lynx wonders, and Tiger has just enough awareness to know that being found like this isn’t going to make him look good. So he sinks to the ground, like a child hiding from their parents in an obvious hiding place. “Tiger?”
Lynx’s voice blends with the cats’, but Tiger knows that if he just stays silent, they'll stop looking for him eventually. They always do. “…ger… Tiger!... lo…me… look at me!”
His eyes blink open—when had he closed them?
—and why does Lynx sound so worried?
“There you go,” Lynx sighs, letting his head fall forward in obvious relief when their eyes meet. There is a strange sound in Tiger’s ears, and it takes him longer than he’d like to admit to realize it's his own wheezing breath. “Are you with me again?”
Tiger nods, but Lynx still sounds like he’s talking underwater. There’s a hand rubbing over his chest, and as he focuses on the motion, he feels his breathing get a little easier. He slowly calms, and as he does, it's easier to discern the anxious voices of the cats.
“Your children are worried about you,” Lynx explains, and Tiger feels himself smile involuntarily at all the anxious faces pressed up against the glass. “Can you stand? I think we should try to get you outside.”
He nods, but he’s still too dizzy to do much more than let Lynx guide him. The fresh air helps a lot, and Tiger slowly feels like he’s a person again. He’s sitting on a café chair, Lynx standing anxiously behind him while his hand still rubs small circles on his chest.
“M’ okay, Lynx,” he forces out, the words immediately turning into a coughing fit because of his scratchy throat. It takes a long time for his body to settle down again after that, and Tiger no longer has the strength to hide the evidence of his allergies on his face. “Sorry, I must look disgusting.”
“Yeah,” Lynx immediately agrees, but before Tiger can feel bad, he feels a tissue mop up his nose and a wet finger gently wipe the crusted remains of tears from under his eyes. Tiger finds it a little difficult to breathe, and this time it has nothing to do with his allergies. “The absolute worst.”
“You don’t have to do that,” he says, trying to turn his face away until his chin is caught and resolutely turned back.
“I know, but I want to do it for you.” The words catch them both off guard. They are such a clear mirror of Tiger’s earlier, accidental confession that the honesty in Lynx’s voice now takes them both aback. “That wasn’t an allergic reaction, right?”
Tiger winces, thinking back. It’s far from his first panic attack he's had, but it is the first time someone has been there to witness it. He knows that Lynx knows he called the ambulance for Je Meow, but he wonders if he also knows that she died in his arms that night.
In the end, he settles on a toned-down version of the truth and tells Lynx the attack came from bad memories. “You looked like you were hiding behind the bar. Was that… was that part of the memory, too?”
“No,” Tiger says, his voice quiet. “I used to do that when I was young and didn’t want to take a target. My parents wouldn’t force me to go if they couldn’t find me.” He feels exhausted now; his body, already heavy with medication, feels even worse after the anxiety attack. Maybe that’s why his filter is a little broken, and he doesn’t stop his words from spilling. “I guess my body still uses the tactic subconsciously.”
He doesn’t mean for it to sound quite as pathetic as it comes out, but before he has a chance to backpedal, two warm arms wrap around him from behind and pull him into a crushing hug. Tiger freezes. He’s wanted Lynx to hug him for weeks, but now that it’s happening, he feels lost. “L-Lynx?”
“You’re crazy,” Lynx whispers, his lips moving against Tiger’s hair. But the words don’t sound like a deflection anymore. He sounds fond and sad and everything in between. “Don’t hide from me again because I will not stop looking.”
It’s dizzying how much his words make Tiger’s body flare up. His hand immediately grabs Lynx’s wrists to keep him in place. He never wants to leave the safety of those arms again.
“Alright.”