Entry tags:
backdated for Frederick
Noah feels really guilty that his present to Freddie is late. He's seen firsthand how sucky a birthday can be here away from family and friends, and while some are lucky enough to have people from home in Darrow, Freddie isn't one of them. Though, Noah can't help wondering if there's even a person he misses badly. Every now and then he'll catch Freddie thinking of someone, but he's never brought them up.
Anyway, he's late because Whiskers had to be old enough to leave the care he was getting at the shelter. Noah couldn't have expected Freddie to bottle feed a kitten around the clock, he doesn't even know if Freddie will want a kitten at all, so he had to wait until Whiskers was ready.
And he's so not telling Freddie that that's her name, because it's super unoriginal.
So Noah has As Of Yet Unnamed Kitten tucked into a small basket underneath a blanket to keep her warm from the cold. He knocks at Freddie's apartment door, hoping he's home. He hadn't texted or anything first, wanting to make up for the belated gift by making it a surprise. "Special delivery!" he calls in a high-pitched voice.
Anyway, he's late because Whiskers had to be old enough to leave the care he was getting at the shelter. Noah couldn't have expected Freddie to bottle feed a kitten around the clock, he doesn't even know if Freddie will want a kitten at all, so he had to wait until Whiskers was ready.
And he's so not telling Freddie that that's her name, because it's super unoriginal.
So Noah has As Of Yet Unnamed Kitten tucked into a small basket underneath a blanket to keep her warm from the cold. He knocks at Freddie's apartment door, hoping he's home. He hadn't texted or anything first, wanting to make up for the belated gift by making it a surprise. "Special delivery!" he calls in a high-pitched voice.
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Not that it matters anymore, probably. If it even ever did.
A knock at the door briefly pulls him out of his thoughts and, frowning, he tosses his tablet aside and pushes to his feet. He's still only in loose shorts and a shirt, his flat plenty warm enough even with winter only sputtering into spring outside.
The voice behind the door is recognizable enough despite Noah's poor attempt at disguising it, and Freddie's lips twitch into a grin when he finds him there. His gaze drops to the basket in Noah's hand as he leans against the door jamb. "My my, if it isn't Little Red Riding Hood at my door."
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Noah purses his lips a moment, trying not to smirk, to grin too much. "Grandma?" he asks in a sweet voice, batting his wide, innocent eyes. "My, what big teeth you have. May I come in, please?"
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Stepping back, he holds the door open wider to invite Noah, lips curving into a curious frown as glances down at the basket again. "Did that just move?"
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"No-- what?" he asks, because that's a strange assumption. He looks down at the basket and unlatches one of the top flaps. "This is for you! For your birthday." He offers Freddie the basket, leaning back against the arm of the couch with a smile.
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His lips tug into a deeper frown as he peers into the depths of the basket and two bright green eyes blink right back up at him.
"It's a cat," he says rather stupidly, looking up at Noah again. "What am I to do with a cat?"
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He knows it sounds cheesy, but at least it's about a cat. Most people have a pet of some kind, it's not that strange.
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Before arriving here, he honestly couldn't have afforded one.
The cat in the basket continues staring up at him with wide, green eyes before letting out a quiet, plaintive little meow and peeking her head out further. "I don't have anything," he says then, stupidly as he backs up further into his own flat. "She from that place where you work? The cafe?"
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He's also prepared to keep her himself if Freddie doesn't want her.
"We don't adopt out cats there, she's from the shelter. Someone brought in a pregnant stray a few months ago and this is one of the kittens from her litter. That's why I couldn't give her to you on time, I had to wait for her to be old enough to be weaned from her mom," Noah explains, sitting down on the arm of the couch.
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"What made you think I'd want a cat?"
It comes out more accusatory than curious as the cat digs her little nails into the back of Freddie's hand for purchase, making him flinch and pull away. She hardly seems deterred at all, just meows again as she squirms further out of the basket.
Freddie refuses to think she's cute.
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"Why?" Noah echoes, and tries to think of an answer that makes sense. He could say that it's because everyone should want a cat, or that he doesn't see Freddie as a dog person, and while both of these are true he thinks maybe the truth is best.
"Are you gonna be mad if I say it's because I think sometimes you get lonely? Living alone and all," he adds, not wanting to make Freddie uncomfortable with his observation.
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"Haven't had a cat since I was a kid," he says, wincing a little at another dig into his arm and he moves to set the basket aside and scoop up the kitten in his other hand. "She'll scratch everything up." Despite himself, he doesn't really feel upset so much as a little confused. Freddie hasn't had to care for anyone but himself since he left high school. How long will it take him to ruin this little thing's entire life?
Holding her up, he squints over at Freddie. "Did you name her?"
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"No, I left that part to you. If you get her a couple scratching posts she shouldn't damage your furniture or anything," he adds, an optimistic smile creeping onto his face.
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"Do I need to do anything?" he asks, glancing from the kitten to Noah and back again. "Neuter or get her shots or anything like that? Not sure this flat even allows cats come to think of it."
But he's not sure he'll let that stop him all the same. It's not like they'd know, is it?
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"I used to live here. They're allowed," he says quietly. He glances up at Freddie with another half-smile. "Seriously, if it's not what you want, I can take her. I was prepared to, in case you didn't want a pet."
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"Didn't say I don't want her," he replies, tone defensive though he doesn't pull her away from Noah's petting. She's clearly enjoying it is the thing, tipping her head up against Noah's fingers and purring even as she digs her sharp little claws deeper into the meat of Freddie's arm.
He flinches after a moment, shifting her to get some relief. "Bit strange that this is what you thought of," he admits, eyeing her a bit as he holds her up. "Could've just gotten a gift card."
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Not that that's a sign of dislike, usually, but it's nice how she's letting Freddie hold her.
"A gift card?" he says and rolls his eyes, reaching over to tug playfully at the hem of Freddie's shirt. "You can't be serious. I think you mean more to me than a gift card."
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"Fine, gift card and a bottle of wine then," he says, ignoring the impulse to make some sort of implication in that. Noah's made it quite clear what he wants from Freddie, what he's comfortable with and, even if it might not be what Freddie himself wants, he'll not push. Noah deserves better than someone like Freddie anyhow and they both know it.
He nods back toward the door. "Go get the rest of the stuff and I'll grab you a beer," he says instead because that sounds friendly enough. "And you can help me pick out a name because I haven't a bloody clue."
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He lets go and leaves out the door to grab the big box of everything he'd brought and left in the hallway. He hadn't worried about anyone stealing it, nothing could have re-sold, really. He just stands there for a minute, staring down at it, and finally brings it into the apartment. "Cat litter, a box, some food and toys," he announces.
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It's disconcerting, Noah's words weighty in a way that makes Freddie's insides twist. They're not talking about a gift card, he knows, and he frowns a little, lightly shoving Noah's hand off. "Stop reading my mind," he says, but his tone comes off more self-conscious than accusatory.
He ducks away into the kitchen as Noah goes to retrieve whatever it is he's left outside. The counter seems as good a spot as any for the cat and she wobbles across the smooth top as Freddie retrieves two bottles from his fridge and grabs the bottle opener from the drawer.
Freddie glances back over his shoulder when he hears Noah return, which is all the time the small ball of fur needs to swat at the newly-released bottle cap and send it skittering across the floor. She hops down to chase after it, tail swishing, and Freddie glances over at Noah again. "She won't try to eat it, will she?"
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He glances over and smiles at the way the kitten bats the bottlecap around. "No, I doubt it. Plastic she might, like bags? Sometimes cats try to eat them for some reason. And wires, you might want to keep an eye on that, Prunam was always trying to chew on the wires behind the TV," he says, getting her some food and water next, setting the bowls down on the kitchen floor.
He stands up, thinking about names. The clever cat names of Un Chat Gris don't seem like Freddie's style. Prunam had been Krem's choice, and Little Ro had been for Ronan.
Noah looks over at Freddie, taking the second bottle and pointing toward the kitten with it. "You should name her after your favorite girl."
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Watching her chase the bottle cap all over the kitchen floor, Freddie leans back against the counter and holds out one of the beers for Noah.
"Don't really have a favourite girl," he confesses with a shrug and a smirk. "And I'm definitely not naming her after my mum." He takes a sip of his drink then, curling the fingers of his free hand around the lip of the countertop as he considers. Strangely, he's tempted to name her after Noah except that's not a very good name for a cat, really. And it's too on the nose besides. Noah's last name doesn't lend itself well either.
He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth as his brow furrows and he glances over again with a thought. "What about Nora?"
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"Nora?" Noah says, his voice tight from the bad swallow. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. "Is that, like, the girl version of Noah?" He grins, a mixture of teasing and fondness. "That's so sweet."
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"Yeah, guess so," he says, striving for aloof. "Not that sweet, is it? People might think I named her after you because you share personality traits and what if she turns out to be an arsehole? Or a fucking ghost."
The last is said with a bit of a grin, most of it hidden behind the rim of his bottle as he takes another sip.
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Noah laughs. "She's definitely not a ghost, but you shouldn't discriminate against her even if she was," he teases, knocking his shoulder into Freddie's and keeping it there. His chest aches a little, that Freddie would want to name her after him, like if he disappears or dies for good there'll still be a part of him here with Freddie. It's sort of a morbid thought, but he'd be lying if he didn't think about death a lot. He is a fucking ghost, after all.
"I don't think it's too sweet, and also...what does that mean?" He tilts his head toward Freddie with a lopsided smile. "I can be an asshole."
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"Yeah, right," Freddie says with a half snort of a laugh, very nearly rolling his eyes. "You hardly even use your ghost-y powers for nefarious purposes. What have you ever done to be even remotely an arsehole. Because, if nothing else, Freddie is an expert on arseholes. In the obvious, physical manner, of course, but he's been called one more times than he could possibly count. And he did learn from the best.
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