Those eyes aren’t prying and those eyes aren’t closed buildings and those eyes don’t say ‘piss off Treavor, I’m sick off you,’ though fuck knows this guy - this guy who is yeah in fact the same Golden Guy who’s been on the receiving end of endless pelted paper balls - has reason to build barricades.
It’s not often he sees eyes like that. Huh. Huh. They aren’t really so bad.)
The cat, though. Yes, there was a cat, he remembered that right, and oh, she’s… So close!? Treavor hadn’t expected that. Animals don’t come close unless they’re okay with you, right? Especially cats; picky guys, smart guys, got the right idea guys. But she’s right down there by his feet.
He’s. Pleased. Warmed through all over again, and the promise of a nearby cat, a cat he can catch a good glimpse of (a cat he doesn’t really remember meeting last night, and he’s sorry for that), prompts him up onto an elbow, faster than he should have done, he has to shut his eyes a moment, wince, let the spiral pass. But he doesn’t sink back down. And he doesn’t miss a word Alice offers.
(A quiet comprehension: If he looks back at Alice, he’d see those same eyes watching still, not unpleasant.)
Our Lady of Lost Hope’s a fucking mouthful and it’d be funny if it didn’t reek of too-exigent gallows humor and if it hadn’t been given by the people who were supposed to be finding the cat a good fucking home. There’s a lot the guy doesn’t say; there’s a lot the guy doesn’t need to say. And anyway, what matters is he’d given her a home, brought back all the Hope the world had taken from her.
Treavor didn’t need to be told not to be a shit. He could snarl that hey, shit, of course he’ll be kind! He doesn’t need to be told how to behave, thank you very much. Like he needs a lesson in behavior. Like he was gonna be a jerk to a perfectly innocent cat.
But Alice isn’t admonishing. The guy’s not being a dick, and it occurs to Treavor that maybe there’s a reason for his caution Maybe something about what he’s seen with people and animals - some people can be real actual assholes with cats - and probably definitely something about that whole okay yeah maybe Treavor’s been a mega-dick around this guy thing.
So Treavor doesn’t snap, and Treavor only gives the smallest, least jostling nod, then shifts so he can see the cat, shifts so he can reach a hand toward the very comfy-looking soft-looking god-she’s-melted-into-that-couch cat. (Is she purring over there? Holy shit, that's amazing.) (Is there a sensation of someone beside him still? Like maybe the guy who was next to him is still next to him, even though Treavor moved? It's... Huh. Huh. Yeah?) He moves slowly, uncurls his fingers in something like deference, ignoring the pain in the head and the sick in his chest, and speaking softly. ]
Hey, hey there…
[ He knows she might not respond. He expects she won’t respond, and that’s all right; let her do what she wants in her own time. He just wants to try. Wants to get a look at her, and shit, isn’t her orange just the warmest, and don’t her paws curls against gentle air just so, and doesn’t she wear that one eye well and doesn’t she exude a kind of peace?
There’s a thud against his hand, then another, and he finds himself petting her, finds her insisting on attention, feels his heart leap light and suddenly he’s smiling, giving enthusiastic but measured rubs, scratching under her chin, along her cheek, and holy shit, she’s a good cat, a friendly cat, and he feels a kind of acceptance, feels honored. ]
Lady Hope.
[ He doesn’t know how long this continues before he - still watching Hope, still alternating between rubbing her head with the back of his hand and thumbing under her chin, still half-smiling in spite of an increasingly agonizing headache (still dimly aware of someone near him, next to him, he's not at all alone here, is he?) - speaks half to Alice, half to no one at all. ]
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Those eyes aren’t prying and those eyes aren’t closed buildings and those eyes don’t say ‘piss off Treavor, I’m sick off you,’ though fuck knows this guy - this guy who is yeah in fact the same Golden Guy who’s been on the receiving end of endless pelted paper balls - has reason to build barricades.
It’s not often he sees eyes like that. Huh. Huh. They aren’t really so bad.)
The cat, though. Yes, there was a cat, he remembered that right, and oh, she’s… So close!? Treavor hadn’t expected that. Animals don’t come close unless they’re okay with you, right? Especially cats; picky guys, smart guys, got the right idea guys. But she’s right down there by his feet.
He’s. Pleased. Warmed through all over again, and the promise of a nearby cat, a cat he can catch a good glimpse of (a cat he doesn’t really remember meeting last night, and he’s sorry for that), prompts him up onto an elbow, faster than he should have done, he has to shut his eyes a moment, wince, let the spiral pass. But he doesn’t sink back down. And he doesn’t miss a word Alice offers.
(A quiet comprehension: If he looks back at Alice, he’d see those same eyes watching still, not unpleasant.)
Our Lady of Lost Hope’s a fucking mouthful and it’d be funny if it didn’t reek of too-exigent gallows humor and if it hadn’t been given by the people who were supposed to be finding the cat a good fucking home. There’s a lot the guy doesn’t say; there’s a lot the guy doesn’t need to say. And anyway, what matters is he’d given her a home, brought back all the Hope the world had taken from her.
Treavor didn’t need to be told not to be a shit. He could snarl that hey, shit, of course he’ll be kind! He doesn’t need to be told how to behave, thank you very much. Like he needs a lesson in behavior. Like he was gonna be a jerk to a perfectly innocent cat.
But Alice isn’t admonishing. The guy’s not being a dick, and it occurs to Treavor that maybe there’s a reason for his caution Maybe something about what he’s seen with people and animals - some people can be real actual assholes with cats - and probably definitely something about that whole okay yeah maybe Treavor’s been a mega-dick around this guy thing.
So Treavor doesn’t snap, and Treavor only gives the smallest, least jostling nod, then shifts so he can see the cat, shifts so he can reach a hand toward the very comfy-looking soft-looking god-she’s-melted-into-that-couch cat. (Is she purring over there? Holy shit, that's amazing.) (Is there a sensation of someone beside him still? Like maybe the guy who was next to him is still next to him, even though Treavor moved? It's... Huh. Huh. Yeah?) He moves slowly, uncurls his fingers in something like deference, ignoring the pain in the head and the sick in his chest, and speaking softly. ]
Hey, hey there…
[ He knows she might not respond. He expects she won’t respond, and that’s all right; let her do what she wants in her own time. He just wants to try. Wants to get a look at her, and shit, isn’t her orange just the warmest, and don’t her paws curls against gentle air just so, and doesn’t she wear that one eye well and doesn’t she exude a kind of peace?
There’s a thud against his hand, then another, and he finds himself petting her, finds her insisting on attention, feels his heart leap light and suddenly he’s smiling, giving enthusiastic but measured rubs, scratching under her chin, along her cheek, and holy shit, she’s a good cat, a friendly cat, and he feels a kind of acceptance, feels honored. ]
Lady Hope.
[ He doesn’t know how long this continues before he - still watching Hope, still alternating between rubbing her head with the back of his hand and thumbing under her chin, still half-smiling in spite of an increasingly agonizing headache (still dimly aware of someone near him, next to him, he's not at all alone here, is he?) - speaks half to Alice, half to no one at all. ]
She’s perfect.