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There was no longer any sense in denying what was so evident: in attempting to lie much less to the people around him, Kay was developing a troubling tendency to instead lie to himself. It was if the dishonesty, static in volume, had simply been squeezed out of one channel and into another.

So it was that he had denied the odd sick feeling that had come over him when he had received Vivian's text; denied it when it recurred to him again in the tattoo parlor chair when the artist chattily asked if he had any pets; denied it a third time when Kalani had visited.

The heaviest denial, however, had come with roaming around his apartment and packing up Ari's things. He had then flopped down into his single chair with his feet propped on the desk, his eyes nominally turned to his TV and seeing nothing. He had, of course, pretended that he did not want to pick her up; had given her his usual abstract and irritated push when she tried to scale the furniture to get into his lap.

Was he still afraid of cats? It was hard to say. But he didn't feel afraid of this cat, at least, even if sometimes he still felt a little skin-crawled when she'd puff herself up and jump sideways at nothing. This was to say nothing of her needle claws frantically sticking under the bathroom door in the morning, which likewise gave him a sensation of quiet panic. But fear seemed distant, at least. Whether this was a universal improvement remained to be seen, given that his only other frame of comparison was Creedence, and he had other reasons to want her somewhere other than his presence.

The door was, again, propped open and baby gate placed - he'd have to give that over to Vivian too - and the air from this and the screened window was rustling the pages of the abandoned book on the nightstand and rippling the old magazine advertisements pinned all along one wall, contributing a susurrating white noise to the low volume of Anthony Bourdain's voice on the TV, and on her second plaintive cry - alarmingly sad - he relented, reaching down to pick the kitten up off the floor and deposit her onto his shoulder as if he was annoyed that she would want to be there. She was still so small, but compared to the mouse he was more used to having there she felt so large - large, especially, compared to the skinny little thing she'd been when he had found her.

"That hurts," he informed her as she began making especially sharp biscuits, but she, as usual, ignored him and attempted to engage him in head butts which he only partially permitted, plagued all the while by a guilty feeling that he ought to be indulging her which he attempted to inwardly counter by saying that by being a cold-hearted a*****e he was, at least, keeping her from getting too attached to him.

It was a relief to hear, at last, a car pull up. Better to yank the bandaid off. He listened for the sound of approaching steps - heels, probably - to call out his sunny-seeming "come in," feeling a little ill and looking as cheerful as he ever did.

She was met with airplane ears and very round eyes, but in fairness, it seemed like Ari was that species of kitten that always looked to be recovering from something shocking. Accordingly, she made no fuss when she was handled over for inspection, Kay immediately abandoning her in favor of nosily investigating his loot.

“Everyone keeps bringing me sugar,” he said in a tone of obvious delight. “Yesterday it was Dippin Dots. Today's it's - oh my god. It's too cute. I don't wanna eat it. You made this? Holy s**t. That's really cool.”

He was not quite so rude as to immediately dig in, and so politely returned it to the bag, turning to see how Ari was reacting to a stranger holding her. Mostly, the same way she would have reacted to he himself holding her, albeit with a little more uncertainty. Again, that stifled inward pang.

“Thank you. For the cake, but also - you know - getting her out of my hair.” He hesitated, a little awkwardly, and had the thought to buy time by muting the TV. “Um. I have her stuff but like - if you want a tour. This is the bedroom.” He made a gesture around the area. “And the living room. And the kitchen.” With the exact same gesture. “And that's the bathroom. And if you get lost send up a signal, I'll guide you back to safety.”

He sat down in the chair, which was the only chair and left the foot of the bed for Vivian and the cat, if she wanted it. This might have been perceived as inconsiderate, since he forgot to tell her, as he had told Kalani, that sitting in that particular chair was a somewhat dangerous endeavor that required both experience and a firm hand, lest you end up on the floor. This might perhaps be implied by the ginger way that he leaned back in it, though.

“Changed your mind yet?” He asked cheerfully, in a tone that implied he knew she couldn't possibly.

He had made only a dismissive “whatever works” gesture at the shoe question, and although he was barefoot himself, that had more to do with matters of personal preference than anything.

“I know,” he said. And then, dutifully: “I know ******** all about cats but apparently I got her, like - in some kinda formative age window. So the rescue people told me to get her used to stuff, so she already gets brushed every day and I like - mess with her feet and clip her nails.”

This was a very short sentence to summarize what had been hands down one of the most harrowing low-stakes experiences of his new life. He had been so, so brave, and no one could appreciate it because to get any credit he'd have to admit how terrifying this process was for him.

“I have her um - her stuff, in that box. She could probably use a new litter box though. But everything else - and her eye drops - just if she needs them, there's a label on there. And her food.”

The box was at the foot of the bed and seemed fairly well furnished considering Kay’s budget and apparent unwillingness to be a cat dad. At the top of it was a handful of fish and mice sewn from scraps - mostly neckties, it looked like - that had a distinctly “Kay’s old clothes” color palette.

“She doesn't use the bed, mostly. She likes to sleep up in your neck. Probably trying to figure out how to suffocate you once she gets big enough,” he added. He couldn't bring himself to say it darkly, and instead said it with a little laugh. It was easier that way. “Are you like - are you gonna rename her?” And then, as if he hadn't asked it: "My friend works at the zoo. They have Dippin Dots there."

It was maybe characteristic of his better qualities that he did not feel the need to say that he had been instrumental in helping her secure that job. It was even more characteristic of them that he didn't even think of it that way, really, instead considering himself merely to have been accidentally in the way of expediting what would naturally have happened on its own.

"Well," he said, "she doesn't really, but do cats ever? At least she won't have to change her last name," he added jokingly.

He watched her play with the facsimile of a mouse that she was cheerfully murdering and felt his usual conflicting feelings over it. She couldn't help being a cat, but it was a little unsettling nonetheless.

"I think they like having something that smells familiar so I put an old shirt in there too. Just in case the toys don't anymore. Because they were just - sitting in the scrap box. She likes to drown them in her water dish, anyway - isn't that ******** awful? Cats, man - so they probably don't smell like anything anymore anyway."

He needed desperately to talk about something else. "How is everything? I didn't ask when you came in. Work and - and your family and everything." This, with friendly interest which at least had the advantage of sincerity even if it was also a diversionary tactic.

He considered this with an apparent deep and abstracted thoughtfulness.

“I hate,” he said at last, “to say anything that'd chase a friend away. But this city gets its hooks in deep and what is it they say about women and proposals - like - if you aren't sure if you should say yes, you should say no? Destiny City is like. Maybe the worst bride for tying you down. You hesitate and the next thing you know it's been five years.”

He had a nervous habit of seeming to always need something to chew on; with a recent haircut he couldn't even resort to a dangling strand of hair. This was in fact why he kept his nails done. He scooped up some random bit of plastic from the desk and chewed on it instead, while Ari got loose from Vivian's arms and onto the bed to have better freedom for attempting to eviscerate her mouse.

“But I don't know. If you like - if you want the hooks, you know. I guess you already have hooks here - family and all. Halloween baby to finish the job.”

He was tactful enough not to push it, and tactical enough not to let her see that he'd been watching her with an intense, searching expression.

This was exactly why he'd sought out Todd. Creedence's assurances that he was Just a Normal Guy had been the greatest review she could have given him despite her palpable contempt. The problem was that Todd was some guy that he saw for a half an hour in a normal week - less, going forward, if he could help it - and all the other acquaintances in his life - well. It was nice to know that Kalani and Elaine were at least on the right side, but the fact that they were on a side at all was somewhat stomach turning. And here was this new friend, who was - he was not unreasonable - probably just torn between family and career in a totally banal and understandable way, and yet he could not help a horrible, godawful terror of what she might be. Probably wasn't. Gave him no real reason to believe -

"Oh," he said, smiling that easy smile and pulling up the bottom of his loose sleeve and holding it out towards her obligingly. Ari, seeing his outstretched hand, abandoned her mouse in favor of pursuing it, but he picked the toy up and tossed it a few inches away to distract her and avoid betraying how much that little movement of hers had hurt him. "A waste of money that I didn't have to waste. It's in that gross peely cloudy stage," he added apologetically. It was not, in fact, all that peely and cloudy, but was clearly not yet looking its absolute best, either. "You know when you break up with someone," he said (he didn't, actually, know this, and never had), "and you go out and make rash haircut and fashion decisions. It was like that, except without the breakup. Unless dumping the cat counts."

And now Vivian had latched onto a topic he, Kay, cared about very much.

"Wear it anyway," he said, immediately and brightly, with that passionate enthusiasm of someone who had strong feelings that would not be repressed. "Find a reason. Haven't you ever, like - just put on really nice clothes to go out and do nothing? Wear it to the zoo. Don't wait for it. I wear my best cologne to bed sometimes."

Granted, he'd stolen it, so maybe it was a bit different knowing that it hadn't put a dent in his pocket. But maybe it wasn't.

He barely interrupted himself as he stooped down - still ginger of the treacherous chair - to rescue Ari from tumbling off the bed, and then untangling her from trying to crawl into his hands, although this did require a couple of asides.

"Actually - oh my god, you little demon, if you scratch a fresh tattoo I'll have your ********' guts - actually, like, at work - stop - we're about to reopen and my boss is all of a sudden on fire with all these community fundraising ideas and he floated some stuff at me and I was thinking about seeing if I could talk him into - like - have you heard of a Prom Rewind? Like just an excuse for grown-a** people to get dressed up and hang out - oh my god, why are you like this - and I know it's not really the right season, but maybe a Homecoming Rewind is a thing, if you try -"

He successfully managed to divest himself of the cat, dumping her into Vivian's lap. Rather than re-launch her attack on either mouse or Maus, she instead sent up a plaintive cry of betrayal, and Kay couldn't help looking a little agonized for a second, although he didn't acknowledge it.

"I think it'd be fun," he said, pointedly not looking at Ari, who - it must be said - had already seemed to forget her grief and was instead trying to eat Vivian's hair. "And there's this place - they collect used formalwear and donate it to kids for next season's prom who can't afford nice clothes for it - I thought it might be fun to have a sort of like... post-event drive for stuff. Is this a stupid idea? Tell me honestly."

Just as well that he did not have to hear her internal rebuttal, given that it would have devolved into him soapboxing on his personal favorite topic of Clothes Are Made to be Worn. This was a man living on cup noodle and 7-Eleven leftovers who, upon discovering some jewel of vintage Ralph Lauren in the donation box, did not immediately run to scalp it nor even to treasure it up for a rainy day, but promptly wore it into work as soon as possible, with the Instagram snap and forum post to prove it. He had spent most of the winter in an overcoat that come in with a price tag still attached that was most of his rent payment, and had worn it over a sweater with cuffs he'd had to darn four times over. Would wear it again, come winter.

Ah, well.

"I think I'll run it by him," he said, distracted by watching the cat. "He's like -"

He hesitated.

"I don't know. I didn't tell anyone yet but he and I had this long-a** conversation a couple days ago. I actually thought I was getting fired. Turns out he never meant for his little rich-guy-philanthropy project to turn into like, an actual profitable business, and he wants to start delegating the stores. And he offered it to me. Not the store," he hastened to add. "God, can you imagine? What would I do with that? Mr. Burns type storyline. Like - an actual store manager type thing. With a raise. Probably not enough of a raise to be doing everything I'm gonna be doing - I already had to interview people," he said, in a tone of vague horror. "But like - way way more than I'm making now. And I told him I'd think about it but I already know I'm gonna say yes, but I just, like - anyway - he's all on fire with ********' ideas, like I said, and I think he wants me to sort of - sort of prove myself? But I don't wanna do a lot. I'm too ********' lazy for that. So I'm gonna just shoot some ideas by him and spend ten minutes in Canva with whichever one he approves, or whatever."

Oh, Kay. You sad, naive child.

"That's actually - like. Maybe that was the breakup. Breaking up with coasting by on floor employee wage and not being expected to do much. Breaking up with having four hours a day to replace buttons on people's shirts for a few bucks." He laughed, again. "Not the cat."

But that last bit brought him back to reality, and the reason for this visit, which he'd almost forgotten in the pleasantness of sitting in front of the open window and open door and chatting with a new friend.

"Speaking of which. You see what I mean about her being a hellion. But they tell me she'll outgrow that. You're getting her just in time for the worst of it, I think."