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Darren jumped a little, startled, when a small bag of cat food was suddenly thrust into his view. He’d heard footsteps, but he hadn’t thought that she would come over here…After a few seconds, he hesitantly accepted the small bag of cat food with a muttered thank-you. Turning it over in his hands, he looked for the price. It looked acceptable. He wasn’t particularly well-off, but he would manage OK. And he could take care of the cat for…a little while.

But still, if he had a chance to pawn the cat off on someone who wasn’t afraid that they were going to hurt it, he would have to do that. He didn’t want it to be in the house when he was dreaming. If at all possible, maybe he could find someone to take it in…but he had few friends in this town, almost no one he could count on to do something as stupid as taking in a cat for a night.

In fact, he hardly had anyone he knew…except for the librarian. Cautiously, he gave her a sidelong glance. She looked like the kind of person who might like animals, who might go for it if he asked her to take one in for a night.

He didn’t want to engage with her. He didn’t want to consider her a friend. He didn’t want to remember I think I might love you from a girl he barely knew, especially not now. But this damn cat…he couldn’t just kick it out onto the street, and he couldn’t bear to imagine himself killing anything in the grip of a nightmare he couldn’t seem to escape.

For a moment or two, he stood there awkwardly, looking between her and the cat food. Was saving a cat worth talking to someone he had to avoid?

He hesitated for a moment longer, frowning, before deciding that he would go for it. “Do you…uh, like cats?”

Abruptly realizing how stupid he must sound, he began to clarify himself awkwardly, “That is…it’s just, well, this cat…I, um, can’t keep it, but, well, I thought that maybe you might…hell. Never mind.” Hastily, he turned away. He’d lock the cat in the bathroom or something, and if it was separated from him overnight, maybe it wouldn’t get hurt. Maybe.

Darren froze when the woman caught on to the end of his shirt. “I…” He straightened up slightly at her words. “Listen,” he said, enunciating each word as clearly as he could. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He was lying through his teeth, of course, but it didn’t seem to be enough to get her to let go, so he added, “It’s not about you. It was never about you, or whatever you said, or anything.” He was gripping the bag of food so tightly that he was half-afraid he was going to break it, but he couldn’t seem to relax his hand.

It wasn’t about her. Of course not. It was about him. It was about the damage that he could cause and what he would do to someone who kept trying to batter down his barriers while he was slowly dying, whether it was a librarian with multicoloured hair or an ugly tabby cat that wanted the safety of his apartment.

Turning his head to look down at her, he carefully freed his shirt from her grasp with his free hand. For a second, she struck him the same way the cat had—small, vulnerable, hungry. Not for food, but for…something. And the usual tug to do something was still there, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He couldn’t just buy the librarian some cat food and let her spend the night in his living room, and then (if she lived…God, it was miserable to have to add that to everything) take her to a shelter where someone might find her and love her. There was nothing he could do for a drifting human girl. All he could do was repeat, “It’s not because of you.”

But she looked too hopeful for him to say that anymore, so he quickly moved on to talking about the cat, hoping that the rest of it would pass in time.“I wanted to find it a place for tonight. Just for tonight,” was all he said, firmly shifting the topic to a safer place. “I just…I don’t think…well, if you can’t, you can’t.” The bathroom in his apartment had a lock, right? He could put the cat in there. Did the lock work? He couldn’t remember. Probably not.

Turning away, he added, “Thanks anyway,” and started walking towards the counter.

Darren, who had just paid for the food, looked over at Fawn with a trace of surprise in his face. “You don’t have to,” he said, frowning. What had brought the sudden change about? “I mean, it probably has fleas. And…” Why, exactly, was he trying to talk her out of this? He needed someone to take the cat, he couldn’t throw it back out on the street without feeling even more of a monster than he already did, and if she was doing it for any reason aside from wanting to take the cat, well, he wasn’t a mind-reader.

“If you’re sure,” he said at last, still looking bemused. Tucking the food bag under his arm after he freed it from her grasp, he turned away from the man at the counter (who had a ridiculous grin on his face, Darren was annoyed to note) and gestured to her.

“Come on,” he said when he noticed that she wasn’t following. “It’s back at my place.”

Only once he’d said that did he realize that, of course, her taking the cat meant she would have to come to his apartment. Was the place fit for company? Had he replaced the furniture after the last time he’d—had he put the broken chairs and stuff away?

Well, too late to worry about that now. He’d extended the offer; if broken dishes and furniture, all the paraphernalia of a man in constant pain who lashed out in the night, scared her away…well, that might just be for the best after all. What was the worst thing that could happen? She’d take the cat and she’d go, and if she had any sense, she wouldn’t come back.

He was already coming to learn that she didn’t have much of what he thought of as ‘sense’—wasn’t she determined to try and be friendly with him, no matter what he did?

Holding the door for her patiently, he waited for her to make up her mind.

Either not noticing or not caring about Fawn’s discomfort, Darren walked through the rapidly darkening street until he reached his apartment building. He checked the sky repeatedly, worried about how low the sun had gotten in the sky. He’d have to just give her the cat and make her leave; the pain got worse at night, and he wasn’t sure how well he could manage—

Surprised to find himself at his door, he fumbled his keys out of his pocket, juggling the food bag to his other arm as he unlocked the door. Pausing, he looked back at her, and only then did he realize just how on edge she looked. “You can wait in the lobby, if you’d rather,” he said. It was phrased like a suggestion, despite its terseness; even though he figured she’d take it, she might surprise him and want to meet the cat before she decided to take it home. “I’ll go get the cat. Might want to be fed before I bring it out, though.”

He’d never thought to be ashamed of the place where he lived, worn-down and shabby as it was, and he wasn’t about to start now; he offered no apologies for the place he had brought her to and didn’t seem to think that any were needed.

Pointing to the peeling velveteen chair that sat in the corner in case she decided to stay downstairs, he walked away and headed towards the door that led to the stairwell. The whole time, he demanded of himself what he’d been thinking, offering to let her come back to his apartment for the cat. Hadn’t he already learned how dangerous it could be to have someone know where he lived? He should have just told her to wait at the store and brought the cat there. Why hadn’t he thought of that earlier?

((It's all good, don't worry about it!))

If Darren was surprised by her sudden outpouring of questions, he didn't show it. Instead, he waited while she rambled, not saying a word, and once she seemed to be done, he answered each one as deliberately and patiently as he could. "Seems friendly. Approached me on the street. Don't have a litter box, but I have a pan you could probably use."

He unlocked the door and went inside, leaving it open for her, and was immediately greeted by plaintive meowing as the battle-scarred tabby meandered out of his living room to twine around his ankles. A reluctant smile touched his lips as he muttered, "Really don't know what's good for you, do you, cat?" Crouching again, he stroked its back, and the cat arched happily into his touch. For a moment or two, he looked perfectly content and at peace. He blinked, having thought of something, and reached over to lift the cat’s tail and check its sex. “Female,” he said aloud, and then he seemed to remember that he had an audience. The shutter came down over his face, wiping it clean of anything but his usual disinterested expression, and he stepped into the kitchen that was off the entry hall. The cat dashed after him, having spied the bag.

Rattling and a few clinks followed by contented crunching sounds indicated that Darren was busy feeding the cat. When he came out of the kitchen again, he held nothing. “Big eater for such a little thing,” he muttered, looking over his shoulder at where the cat crouched in front of the food bowl. Seeming mystified when he found Fawn still standing in the entryway, he looked around. He hadn’t had the chance to check and see if the living room was habitable, and the growing pain at his temples and in his joints told him that he wouldn’t be able to stand having guests for long, anyway. “She should be done in…” he pressed his fingertips against his forehead. “…in a few minutes. Do you, uh, want anything?”

s**t, s**t, s**t. He shouldn’t be acting like a host. He didn’t want her to stay any longer than she absolutely had to; once again he’d acted instinctively on the manners his mother had hammered into him and once again he was going to regret it. Monsters don’t have manners, he thought, and nearly had to stifle a groan. Not only was the thought itself painfully corny, but just the act of thinking too much felt like needles stabbing into his head. The sound of the cat’s crunching, the light from the kitchen, the scent of another person, it was all too much. He needed her to take the cat and leave.

“Just a minute,” he managed to choke out before bolting down the hallway, through the living room (which, yes, was exactly the broken mess he remembered) and into the tiny bedroom. It was dark in here, and the pain behind his eyes subsided a little. When he could stand it, he would go out again. But first, he needed a minute. Just a minute.

The cat, belly bulging from her unexpected good fortune, followed Fawn out of the kitchen and into the living room. It sat watching her for a few minutes before it padded away and sat in front of the door that had just closed, its ratty tail switching patiently. After a few minutes of the cat’s unblinking stare, the door creaked open and Darren came out of his bedroom once again. His eyes were narrowed against the light, low though it was, and when he stepped out, the cat rubbed its head lovingly against his leg.

This time, though, he jerked away with something that sounded very close to a quiet growl. His dark eyes flickered up and pinned Fawn as she picked up another wad of cloth and padding. “What are you doing?” It wasn’t really a question, more of a snarl.

The cat meowed plaintively at his feet, and Darren gritted his teeth, curling his fingers in until his nails bit deep into the palm in order to resist the urge to kick the animal across the room. Seeming to realize its danger, the tabby darted nimbly away from his side and sat on one of the piles of fluff, watching them both out of mismatched eyes.

“You should go now,” he said. The heaviness weighing down on him was starting to rip him apart at the seams, and something a little like desperation flashed in and out of his face as quickly as a lightning bolt. She had to leave. She had to leave right now before he did something he would regret. “Take the cat and go. I’ll get the pan.” Turning on his heel, he stalked into the kitchen, hitting the light switch as he went in to close out the light.

Luckily, the pan was where he remembered; if he’d had to search for it, he might not have even had time to find it before he lost his temper completely. Shoving the half-empty bag of cat food into it, he carried it out of the kitchen and pushed it firmly into Fawn’s arms. The dark gaze that latched on to hers for a second didn’t even look fully human. He reached towards the cat, but the small animal—which had adored him just moments before—dodged away from his hand.

Darren looked stricken, and for a moment he looked almost like himself again. Cautiously, the cat padded back towards him, and he promptly picked her up and deposited her unceremoniously in the pan alongside the food.

Darren made another sound, somewhere between a groan and a laugh that held no amusement. “If only,” he breathed. “If only that were all.”

As the cat leaped free, the pan went crashing down, and Fawn flew into him, Darren’s body automatically shifted as though expecting to take a hit, and without even thinking about it—his reflexes had increased since the sickness began—he caught her before she could fully crash into him. But having her near him was infuriating, and on a growl he pushed her away from him again as soon as she had her balance. “Leave it,” he hissed. “I’ll just break it again tonight.”

If his mind wasn’t so skewed, wasn’t already hazing over from the pain, he would never have said such a thing, not to someone that he really barely knew. As it was, he still realized what had come out of his mouth, but not in time to stop himself. Whirling away from her, he snapped over his shoulder, “Take the cat and go.” His fingers were clenching, wanting to press the nails into her throat and rip—

The cat was cowering under the torn-up cushions, and seeing it over Fawn’s shoulder made him get back some semblance of control over himself, at least for a few minutes. “I mean it, Fawn,” he insisted, and his voice was lower, more guttural than it had been a few moments ago. “Take her and go. You aren’t safe here right n—” He cursed, his hand rising to cover his eyes as the pain spiralled out of control.

“Go!” he snapped at her. Why wasn’t she moving? Couldn’t she see that if she stayed here she could die? What in the hell was wrong with this girl? Turning away from her once again, he made himself walk into his bedroom at something approximating a calm pace. Made himself shut the door without slamming it.

Once he was closed safely away from attacking anything human (though that might not last if she waited for too much longer), he let his mind go, and the next thing Fawn would hear from her place in the living room was the sound of something heavy and wooden cracking.