Chapter Text
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"Shit, Charlie! No!" You shout, as your tabby slips out the front door.
"Goddammit," you curse, rolling your eyes before dropping your bag in the entryway, hoping to catch him before he bolts for the stairs.
"Charlie!" You call, glancing down the hall, watching a whisp of brown dash into the apartment next door. "Jesus -" this was just what you needed.
"Hey, buddy," you hear a gruff voice say, and of course - of course that little shit had dashed into the apartment of the one guy you were trying to avoid.
You'd just added the tomatoes and basil to your rissoto when there was a knock at your door, and you shift Luna on your hip, cutting the heat before you head towards the front door.
You wonder if it's Cam - with the parts to finally fix your dishwasher, though you're pretty sure he doesn't make house calls on Sunday afternoons.
You open the door to a stranger, tucking yourself behind the door. He looks unassuming enough, but you really should start using your chain lock.
"Hey -"
"Do you have a subwoofer in here?" He interrupts, trying to peer into your apartment.
"What?" You wonder, tightening your grip on Luna. Was he high?
"Look, I swear I'm not normally like this, and I love Sabrina Carpenter as much as the next person, but I just got off a fourteen hour shift -"
"Oh -" you gasp, "oh my god," you blurt - that explained the bloodshot eyes and rumpled appearance - you'd heard a doctor recently moved onto your floor, but you had no idea it was right next door. "I'm so sorry, I can turn it off -"
His mouth quirks up in a tired smile, shaking his head. "You don't have to turn it off, just maybe ... Turn it down?"
You nod, knowing you were grabbing your headphones as soon as the door closed - risotto be damned. You know you have a pair somewhere -
"Of course, absolutely."
He stands there, "that smells good, what are you making?"
"Tomato and basil risotto?" You gesture towards your kitchen, like this man might assume you're making it your bathtub.
"Shit, I'll let you get back to it," he laughs, and you notice his eyes are hazel, "and sorry again -"
"No, I'm sorry," you laugh, tucking your hair behind your ear. "I'll turn it down."
"Thanks," he smiles, "and enjoy your lunch."
"Thanks," you say stupidly as he turns to leave, and he says something that you miss. "What?"
"I'm Jack, figured I should probably introduce myself, if I'm going to give you shit before noon."
"Oh, I'm Kat, it's nice to meet you?" You phrase it like a question, watching him wave before heading back next door.
You quickly close the door, latching the chain lock (one can never be too careful!) before dashing back to the kitchen to frantically stir your risotto, before setting Luna down to run into your livingroom to cut the music.
You let out a deep breath, grabbing your cellphone as you head into your bedroom to find your headphones.
You still hadn't quite lived down the embarrassment - and you made sure to only play your music sans headphones after seven - just in case.
You take a deep breath, brushing your hair back from your face as your neighbour ducks his head out of his front door.
"Oh," his face brightens in recognition, "is he yours?"
"Yes," you flush, "I'm so sorry - I know you work nights -" he quirks his head, and you bite your lip.
"Yeah, I do, but uh, it's my day off -" he holds out his other hand, where he's holding a couple of folded grocery bags.
Charlie lets out a trill, tucked into your neighbour's arm.
"Still -" you laugh, hoping you don't sound as hysterical as you feel. "He grew up on the streets," you say, by way of explaination, "at least that's what the shelter told me - I'm just fostering him and his other litter mates until a different rescue can take them."
"You have kittens in your apartment?"
"Yeah, the girls are pretty chill, Bubs is the problem child."
He narrows his eyes at you, "how many kittens are we talking?"
"Five? It should only be for a couple of weeks -"
"Is that other cat you were holding one of his sisters?"
"Oh, no, she's mine," you swallow, "I know legally we're only supposed to have five, but Cam said it was okay -"
Jack holds his hands up, "I'm not a snitch," he assures you, "I just thought kittens would be louder."
"Oh, well, they're weaned so they're not being bottle fed -" you notice that Charles is still happily nestled in Jack's arms. "He likes you, he's usually not so comfortable with strangers -" you quirk your head, "you're not looking to adopt, are you?"
"Oh," Jack glances down at Charlie who's currently making air biscuits, "no, it wouldn't be fair to an animal with how much I work -"
"Cats are actually pretty self sufficient," you explain, immediately falling into the speech you had prepared for any potential adopters.
"Oh yeah, I grew up with cats." He gives you a look, "you're not trying to -?"
"No," you shake your head, "no, I'm just surprised, he hates it when I pick him up."
"Hm, maybe you're trying too hard," Jack muses and you're not sure why that makes colour flush up the back of your neck.
"That's probably true," you mean it as a joke, but worry darkens Jack's face.
"I'm just fucking with you -"
"Luna loves me," you shrug, as Charlie cracks open an eye to peer at you, "c'mon Bubs," you coo, and you watch him curl his claws into Jack's shirt. "You need to come home -" he scrabbles like he's going to bolt, but seems happy enough on Jack's shoulders.
"I've heard of the cat distribution system, but -" he looks at you for help.
"Would you mind?"
"Not at all," you turn and Jack follows you back to your apartment, and you open the door, to six little faces curled up on the couch.
"Oh," his face brightens as he steps over the threshold, "they obviously have different fathers."
You give Jack a look, "we don't talk about that," you tut, grabbing Charles from his perch, "their mom was stil a kitten herself, but she was adopted almost immediately, once they were weaned. That was before I picked them up."
You watch Jack wonder over to the couch, where the other kittens watch, warily, and Lucy stands up when Jack holds out his hand, tottering over to him to bat at his hands.
"Do you work from home?"
"Oh no, I'm a teacher," he gives you a look, like maybe he thinks you're crazy for doing this - and admittedly, he might be right.
Charlie gives an annoyed ech, chomping at Jack's calf as he crouches in front of the couch.
"Excuse me," he laughs, leaning down to scratch Charlie's head. "Do you leave them out when you're at work?"
"No, they have full run of my spare room." You carefully packed all of your crafting supplies into the small closet, leaving two of your other bins as a makeshift cat tree under the window.
You watch as the rest of the kittens tentatively inch towards Jack, Peppermint Patty sniffs his knee before tentatively reaching out into a stretch.
"Oh, that's a big stretch," Jack laughs, as the white kitten gives a quiet meow. "I don't know how you don't keep all of them."
"It's tempting, but I think Cam would actually kill me." Jack snorts and you're oddly proud, even though you get the feeling it's not that hard to pull a laugh out of the older man.
You also notice the ring on his left finger, and let out a little huff of disappointment. Of course Jack was married.
You'd seen him a handful of times since the night he'd come to ask you to turn down your music, but he'd always been alone.
Maybe she travels for work.
You brush your hair out of your face, deciding it was none of your business. He'd come over for the kittens, not for you, and the last thing you needed was to develop a crush on your married next door neighbour.
That would be stupid.
Jack glances at you, finally noticing your bag that's sitting by your front door.
"Shit, were you going somewhere?"
"Yeah," you shrug, "I was going to get groceries when that little shit ran out."
"Oh, sorry for keeping you -"
No. Please keep me.
"It's okay, I was just trying to get to the store before the rush -"
"Did you want a ride?" Jack wonders, reaching down for his reusable bags he'd dropped on the floor.
"Oh, you don't have to -"
"I'm pretty sure we're going to the same place."
"I was going to Fresh Market -"
"Perfect," Jack smiles, "are you making more risotto?"
"No," you flush, "I was going to make a pork roast."
"Well I don't mind."
"Your wife might," you mutter under your breath.
Jack looks confused for a moment, "oh," you watch as colour flushes his cheeks. "No," he shakes his head, "I'm a widow -"
"Oh," you gasp, "I'm so sorry."
Way to go, a nasty little voice pipes up, you and your big mouth.
He nods, "it was a while ago," he nods, "not sure if me being a widow is a dealbreaker, but my offer still stands."
"N-no," you laugh, "I'd appreciate it, parking down there's a goddamned nightmare."
"Parking anywhere downtown is awful."
You laugh, "true." You wait for him, and quickly shut the door before Charlie can bolt again, and he lets out a plaintive meow as you lock it behind you. "Are you sure I can't talk you into it?"
"Ask me again, next week," he winks and you trip over your own foot. "You good?"
You nod, swallowing as you follow him towards the stairs - the only real downside of your apartment, and you're glad you only live on the second floor.
You notice Jack wince, "are you good?"
"Yeah," he nods, "I think it's gonna storm tonight."
You glance outside, where the sky is still bright and blue, and you wonder if he'd broken a bone that acts up when the weather turns.
It's a short walk to his car, and while it's a luxury model, it's not flashy - although it looks like he purchased it in the last decade, unlike your sad little Honda Civic, that you'd inherited from your mom when she decided to buy a newer model.
But hell, Little Blue got you from point a to point b, so you weren't complaining.
He gets the door before you have a chance to reach for it, and you bite your lip.
"Thanks," you murmur, trying to remember the last time a guy opened your door for you as you drop into the passenger seat - realizing belatedly that none of the guys you'd gone out with had bothered.
Not that this was a date.
You fiddle with the hem of your shirt, as Jack climbs into the front seat, and The Cure fills the car as he starts the engine.
Strange as angels
Dancing in the deepest oceans
Twisting in the water
You're just like a dream
"Oh," Jack laughs, "sorry," he mutters, turning the channel, and Manchild by Sabrina Carpenter blares from the speakers, and you flush the same shade as your t shirt.
"God, I'm still sorry about that."
"Don't be," Jack laughs, "although I did have that song stuck in my head the next day at work."
You bite your lip, so you don't apologize again, as he pulls into the street.
"So," you murmur, drumming your fingers against the arm rest, "what made you choose Glasshouse?"
He glances at you, before changing lanes, "it's closer to work, and I outgrew the place I was in before." You nod, "I'm glad they had an apartment on the second floor," he laughs, "those stairs are murder."
"Sometimes those two flights feel like twenty," you lament, running your hands up your leg.
"So, what are you thinking about putting on your roast?"
"Hm, I'm using my grandma's recipe."
"Oh yeah? Does she live in Pittsburgh?"
"Oh, no, she lives in Ontario."
"Are your folks here?" Jack wonders, pulling into the left lane, grimacing, "sorry -"
"No," you shake your head, "it's okay, my dad's in Pittsburgh," you glance out the window, "my mom died when I was sixteen."
"Shit," Jack mutters, "I'm sorry."
"Thanks, she was sick for a long time." You can't remember a time before her illness.
Jack doesn't ask how, and you feel like you share something now - and unfortunate truth, neither of you had asked for.
"Are you a big Sabrina Carpenter fan, now?" You tease as he pulls to a stop at a red light.
"I've checked out some of her stuff," he nods, glancing at you. "It's catchy."
You press your lips together, to bite back a laugh.
"Oh, sorry," he rolls his eyes, "it slaps."
You snort, "no," you grin.
"No? Did I use that wrong?"
"I don't think kids are saying 'slaps' anymore."
"They're not?"
"I think it's 'rizz'," the slang feels strange in your mouth.
"I thought a person had rizz."
"Oh, I think you're right," you make a face, "my students are all five years old, I'm not really hip with the slang."
"Five? You teach kindergarten?"
"Yeah."
"Goddamn."
You fold your hands, that's one of the two reactions you've come to expect from people when they find out you're a kindergarten teacher - either it's an excited exclaimation about how cute they must be, or it's something that lands close to respect.
"And I thought my job was chaotic."
"Oh, it is, we have routines."
"Sounds a lot like herding cats." He pulls into a spot right in the middle of the parking lot, and you grab your bag before getting out of the car.
"Did you want to get what you need and meet back here?"
"Sure," you nod, ducking to the left to grab a cart as Jack heads for the front door.
You squint against the sun, heading straight for the meat department, you had planned on getting a small cut, but you pause, before grabbing a slightly bigger cut, carefully setting it into your cart, before you head to the baking aisle, grabbing a packet of smoked paprika and cayenne pepper, before grabbing some brown sugar - thankful that you'll use at least half before it goes hard.
You take your time, wondering through the store, assuming Jack had his own extensive list, only realizing how wrong you are when he gets out of the car to help you lose your groceries into the back seat.
You shoot him a look, "That's all you got?"
He shrugs.
"Jesus, I'm sorry," you mutter, shoving your third bag into the back, before you look at him. "I feel like an asshole."
"Why?" Jack wonders, sounding amused.
Mostly because I really didn't need half the shit I got?
"I was in there for almost an hour," you grumble.
"I don't mind," he shrugs, "it's a nice day, I've been listening to Sabrina."
You glance at the console, and it takes a second for you to realize what song's playing, and when you do, your face immediately flushes.
How you pick me up, pull 'em down, turn me 'round, oh, it just makes sense
How you talk so sweet when you're doin' bad things
That's bed (bed) chem (chem)
How you're lookin' at me, yeah, I know what that means and I'm obsessed
Jesus fucking Christ.
Was the universe conspiring to kill you?
Thankfully the song's over when you drop into the front seat, and you glance at him.
"Will you let me make it up to you?"
"Hm?"
"Let me cook you dinner? It's honestly the least I could do -"
His brows draw together, "I can't."
Disappointment settles low in your belly.
"I'm picked up a shift tonight."
"At the hospital?"
"Oh, no," he shakes his head, planting his hand on the seat next to your shoulder, so he can pull out of the spot. "I pick up shifts with SWAT -"
You choke on your own saliva, "I'm sorry?" You cough, vision blurring with tears.
"Yeah," Jack glances at you.
"Just, like, for fun?" You finally manage, and that gets a laugh out of him.
"I was medic," he rubs the back of his neck, "before I became a doctor."
"Oh," you nod, "well, it's good to have hobbies," you grin, glancing at your lap. "I'll save you some."
"Yeah?"
"Of course," you shrug.
"What time do you usually leave for work?"
"Eight?"
You'd only caught him coming home a couple of times, when you'd been running late.
Jack frowns, "sorry."
"Don't be," you reply, it would be easy to leave a container by his front door, and in the entire time you'd lived there, you hadn't heard of anyone stealing the myriad of packages that were left in the hall.
You spend the rest of the drive arguing about your favourite Sabrina Carpenter song - yours is Nonsense, while his is apparently Good Graces.
"That's just because you had it stuck in your head all day."
"By that logic, it should make it my least favourite."
He helps you carry your groceries upstairs, insisting you carry the lightest bag - which just so happens to be his, and before you unlock your door, he presses something into your hand, before disappearing into his apartment.
You stare at the pack of crinkly cat toys, not sure exactly what to do with yourself.
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