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Harley Sawyer turned off the alarm for the third time that morning. It was the second-to-last reminder before he had to get up, otherwise he'd be late completing his entire morning routine.
Not the first time, it happened to him, though.
He wasn't usually the type of person to linger in bed late, even when he had to go to work; but since his daily routine had been interrupted— or rather, changed— by a new, more domestic and family-oriented routine… He had developed the bad habit of quickly becoming accustomed to the warmth of others, to the point of desiring it with a need he didn't even know he had.
Well, to the bad habit of becoming addicted to other people's warmth, and especially to the caresses on his head. He had turned off the alarm for the second time when they started, around ten to six in the morning. Slowly. Getting tangled in his short, raspy curls, as if he wanted to shape something that couldn't be shaped— and refused to let him shape it. But only because it was him and because they were in the privacy of his room did he allow it.
Angel was the only person who had the privilege of touching his curls without asking permission and not earning a bad look or a smack in his hand.
He reached his scalp after several long minutes, entertained in futile attempts to shape his hair, around the time the alarm went off for the third time. It was six in the morning. The last alarm: his last warning before his morning was ruined, even though it had just begun; it would go off in fifteen minutes.
He stretched a little, his back creaking from all the stiffness of the night, and relaxed again into the warmth of his chest and shoulder, which continued its caresses without interruption. His free hand sought him again, resting on him once more.
“Are you going to let the last one ring or not?” Before asking that, he had felt the anticipation of his chest swelling with a deep breath, and the subtle movement of his throat silently clearing his voice after the entire night.
A grumble was the response, partly a tacit complaint that he had left his hand still longer than he should have. Angel seemed to notice the reason for the complaint, and could only manage a small smile before the explosive verbal outburst:
“You better keep going”
Yes, he's going to let it ring…
A subtle smile appeared on his lips as h resumed the gentle caresses.
They started work at seven in the morning. Only there was a huge difference between them— besides the salary, but that was a minor factor by then— and that was how deep into the bowels of the earth each of them was located. While one usually frequented the areas teeming with children, like the Playcare, Harley prowled the darkest, most sinister, and disturbing depths that concealed practices that no sane human being would ever tolerate…
The irony of the situation was that despite lurking around areas like the Prison and observing, analysing, and even sometimes operating on multiple experiments daily without feeling a shred of remorse for them— he would better evade the implications of it all because ethically it seemed incompatible, hypocritical, and contradictory— after leaving there and going up a couple of floors to the Playcare, he became an absurd and pathetic— in the opinion of some, a.k.a: the CEO and his-faithful-friend-companion-boyfriend-lover-nobody-knew-exactly-what Eddie Ritterman, wink, wink— sugar cube who didn't seem like he could hurt a fly when he was in the presence of little Quinn— formerly Navidson— Sawyer.
He'd gotten used to it by now, of course: to the contradictions that gave humanity to someone everyone thought was not human. A week was enough to adjust to the new routine— and life—, and the biggest surprise was that it wasn't just that Sawyer seemed to have suddenly become a compassionate soul by taking in multiple people to add colour and passion and a certain appealing atmosphere to his life, it was that he hadn't just taken in people…
Little footsteps, whose claws tapping the floor with a delicate, distinctive, and recognisable sound, echoed across the floor with an even rhythm that made it clear they were coming toward him. And then a subtle weight landed on the bed and approached until— shamelessly— it climbed on top of him without a care for where it was stepping— sometimes he couldn't believe cats had perfect balance and absolute control of their bodies, or if perhaps it was just this feline who was absurdly clumsy— and it came to rest almost in front of him, sitting imposingly, like an intimidating and majestic gargoyle. And finally, meowed.
Angel didn't need a feline translator to know what he was saying: I'm hungry. That was not a greeting, definitely not. Because ever since he had started living with Sawyer, that had been repeated every single morning, without fail. He already knew what that spoiled fur-ball wanted.
“Harley… your furry son is calling for you”
“He’s on top of you, he’s your problem…” He didn’t even lift his head, open his eyes, or move from the little corner that the multi-coloured feline, as if a bottle of bleach had been poured on him— what a horrible mental image, by the way, that must hurt— was fighting to snatch from him, in search of attention. Also an attempt to be fed, he didn't mind who, but he wanted his food.
“You’re on top of me too”
“I’m your problem too.” A huff from him earned a chuckle before he finally deigned to subtly raise his head and turn toward the feline, who, noticing his movement, leaned closer and gently nudged his own head as if in greeting, or as if it were his way of waking him up and getting him moving. “Good morning to you too, Fluffy.” a subtle caress between his grey and orange ears.
"Did you really end up naming him that?"
“Are you going to question my way of naming a stray cat?” raised his eyes towards him.
"Fluffy? Seriously?"
Harley snorted, lowering his eyes towards the car again, he was searching for more caresses.
“It’s too early to argue with you…” He stretched his arm over his body to the bedside table, where a pair of square glasses sat neatly and perfectly placed next to the alarm clock.
After putting them on, he turned to the other end of the bed, where his slippers were, the cat quickly following him with large, hungry, eager green eyes. His tail was twitching awkwardly; according to the vet, he seemed to have a nerve problem that made it difficult for him to move his tail, but it didn't affect his health or his other movements. They didn't know what had happened to him before Harley found him, or if that had been the reason for his abandonment, but neither of them minded; rather, it gave him a unique charm.
He found it curious to realise how Harley Sawyer was gathering those that others despised or coldly discarded, knowing how to see the beauty in them.
"Is it too early for a kiss too?" That question made him stiffen in place, slowly turning his head, pretending he wasn't noticing the little headbutts the cat was giving him on the arm to hurry him up.
Angel slowly straightened up on the mattress, sitting up while pulling his own body weight down until he was almost sitting on the edge of the pillow, not losing sight of the subtle change that Harley's face went through from the question until he finished thinking about whether their little interrupted argument— he wouldn't call it that, but Harley would, so he let his win, as in almost all arguments as long as he didn't interrupt them for his own convenience— was sufficient reason to deny his tender request.
He reached a verdict. He knew because he subtly stretched out, resting his weight on his arm and pressing his lips to his cheek.
"But—"
“First you brush your teeth, I’m not going to kiss you with morning breath.”
“You kiss me every day without complaint—”
“I said brush your teeth first.”
“You are so— Ugh… Fine…" he rolled his eyes.
That seemed to satisfy him, because after a subtle chuckle, he finally heeded the cat's commands and got up from the mattress to go feed him. Angel turned off the alarm so it wouldn't go off, and he also got out of bed, but unlike what he'd been ordered, his steps led him directly to the kitchen, completely ignoring the bathroom. Harley seemed to have anticipated his obvious rebellious arrival and disobedience, because he appeared prepared for the attempted 'assault'— let's call it that, to be a bit extravagant and alarmist. And the instant Angel tried to grab him by the waist to pull him closer with a somewhat demanding gesture and reach his lips, the other's hands were already applying minimal force to his chest to push him back. Pushing his own body back, and his head just enough so that he couldn't reach him.
"Angel…"
“Don’t be stubborn”
“Don’t you be stubborn.” lifted his hands from his chest to his cheeks, holding them rather intimately.
“It’s the same thing every day. Is this because I complained about you calling the cat Fluffy?”
A slightly mischievous giggle escaped the other man's lips, who lowered his eyes to the feline, which rubbed itself animatedly and gratefully against his leg before leaving the kitchen as if nothing had happened.
A brief silence with shared glares, expecting an answer.
“It was that or Yarnaby”
“Even worse…” he rolled his eyes. “Do you know the murky implications of that when you were literally going to—?” Harley placed his hands over the other man’s lips, cocking his head to look over his shoulder, listening carefully to make sure no one was approaching who might be eavesdropping on the conversation.
What was strange and fascinating at the same time was his unilateral attempt to prevent Quinn from knowing what his pre-adoption fate would have been. It seemed he was genuinely ashamed of even having considered his excessive and despicable actions, despite not regretting any of the successful experiments that came before and after the adoption. The morbid aspect was that he hadn't stopped doing it; he just wasn't as involved in the selection of subjects, even though he was still present in one way or another. Quinn had represented an exception to his own understanding, one that even he couldn't seem to explain, but that only made it more disturbing, especially since he was keeping the truth hidden from Quinn.
Angel was sure it wasn't a good idea, because the day Quinn discovered the truth, his reaction would surely be the expected one, and that seemed to be what Harley Sawyer wanted to avoid at all costs. Because it seemed that if he covered it with a thick enough rug, it would magically disappear as if it had never existed.
“Don’t talk so loudly about it…”
“You started it,” was a whispered reproach, but loud enough to sound like a complaint.
“I only mentioned the name,” he replied, also in a whisper. “I think he’s still asleep…”
“Well, he shouldn’t, we’re leaving in twenty minutes or so…”
“Go take a shower then… I’ll make breakfast…”
"Lucky guy who showers in five minutes because he has water-repellent hair..."
“It’s called Afro”
“Water-repellent hair,” he insisted jokingly, taking advantage of his lowered guard to steal a kiss.
"Angel!"
“I won,” he smiled victoriously and slowly let go, retreating from the kitchen.
Harley Sawyer rolled his eyes and ran his hands through his hair to clear his head. His hair was short, but still a mess, especially after Angel had been stroking his head for about twenty minutes straight.
As he prepared breakfast for the three members of that small, loving family, his steps led him to the room of the seven-year-old boy, who was curled up under the covers without a shred of guilt or remorse. A subtle smile appeared on his lips as he noticed Yarnaby's stuffed animal, the one he had given to him, lying beside him, and a gentle pang of guilt made him stop dead in his tracks. It took only a few seconds of deep breaths to calm himself before he approached the bed and gently nudged the boy with a hand on his shoulder.
“Time to wake up, Quinn…”
Accompanied by that subtle tone, a meow echoed in the room, which seemed to activate something hyperactive inside Quinn, who immediately turned towards him, with his eyes— which initially seemed ready to feign tiredness and a cold, something he had already tried many times in order to avoid going to school— wide open and a smile on his lips.
“Fluffy!” His only consolation was that Quinn and the feline got along well and had a good tuning, and like him, he was more of a cat person than a dog person.
Harley may say he was rather satisfied with his new life in a way that everyone around him seemed to be glad with what they had, and many times he found himself with a feeling of gratification and full of joy just seeing them with subtle smiles and bright eyes. Since Angel had begun living with them it had been weird.
He wasn't sure what was the reason he considered weird, but it still was outlandish. To Quinn he gave him motivation to go to school again because he had a friend there that would defend him from possible bullies and unfair situations, to Fluffy he became his official groomer in the afternoons when he was finishing reports and documentation, to him…
To him he was an addiction, a warm feeling in his chest that kept it pumping hard against his chest. To him he was gentle caresses in his hair; naughty kisses and affection everywhere and whenever— mostly—; also he was understanding and accepting. Not many had been able to cope with him. Not many had been able to look at him in the eyes for more than a solid minute. Not many had been able to see further the reputation he had.
“Good morning, Dad…” he delicately grinned as he smoothed down the unruly strands of Quinn's hair.
“Good morning to you too, my boy…”
At first, he had been reluctant to be called that, probably because at first— before Angel proposed to take care of the kid when he was working, as he was in Playcare and he could take a look at him easily than Harley— having the boy with him in his office twenty-four hours a day because he was trying to find a school outside Playtime Co. that wasn't far away from the factory and so that Quinn wouldn't have to stay in the library or the main door of the school waiting until late for him to pick him up, made people look at him strangely— sometimes even rudely— when Quinn called him that in front of his coworkers when he had to go to meetings or leave documentation at Leith's office, or other possible things he might have to do.
It was like he was some kind of feral abnormal creature next to an adorable, innocent cat. Not a good analogy in that case, perhaps.
It seemed they didn't realise that someone could be cold, calculating, and manipulative, and at the same time be the most attentive, loving and warm father he could possibly be to Quinn. People had many faces, often called masks, and society continued to function with these contradictions. What bothered him most was that he seemed to be the exception to the rule, and he wasn't allowed to have the same contradictions that everyone else had.
“Breakfast is ready…” whispered, trying to stop overthinking everything.
“I’m coming,” he hummed as he stretched, although only halfway, the feline interrupted him by jumping on the bed with that grace and elegance that he so admired in felines.
He was going to allow him five minutes of cuddles with Fluffy before rushing him back…
Also because Angel would have come out of the shower at that time.
"Yummy! Pancakes!"
While Quinn and Angel had a full breakfast, his was relatively simpler. Most of the time it was just a cup of coffee, but since he'd been living with them, he made an effort to eat something more— partly because of Angel's insistence that he take care of himself and not live on coffee alone. He actually did all his life and he was fine. Angel was too exaggerated sometimes... But his heart and body warmed when the blond was too insistent and caring with him, he wouldn't deny it.
He adored the way he was staring at him. Partialy concerned because of his tiny breakfast, but also defeated because he couldn't convince him to eat more.
Sawyer was too stubborn...
After breakfast, Harley Sawyer went to take a shower. Just as Angel had anticipated, it was no more than five minutes before he got out, and he was barely ten minutes away from leaving the bathroom, ready to go.
On the way to Playtime Co., Angel would drive, sometimes Harley would; it wasn't a set arrangement. It was simply a matter of who took the car keys first, and it wasn't even a competition. Upon arrival, a gentle stroke of Quinn's hair was enough to put him in a good mood for the day, and a kiss for Angel before getting out of the car, usually when no one was looking. He was averse to critical glances first thing in the morning. And finally, Quinn would take Angel's hand, and the two of them would step out of the lift at Playcare, while Harley stayed inside, continuing to the lower floors of the factory.
But he was eager for his shift to end so he could reunite with Angel and Quinn at the end of his day.
THE END