Chapter Text
I could hear the cats meowing from the other side of the door that led from the garage to the kitchen before I even shut off the engine. Their din only increased as I exited the car and made my way around the front. Clearly, they were excited that I was home early.
Balancing the paper takeout bag and cup tray in one hand, I unlocked the door and stepped inside, closing it quickly behind me out of habit so that none of the feline terrors could escape to the forbidden lands of the garage.
I needn’t have bothered, though, because it became immediately apparent that it was not my arrival home that they were meowing about.
“I know, I know,” Blake said loudly over one of Snowball’s patented screams, not even pausing to give the cats a second glance as they lifted a pile of clean dishes onto the top shelf of the over the bench cabinet where they usually lived, well within easy reach for me, but far too high for Blake, apparently. “It’s not fair that I get to climb on the counter when you get sprayed with water every time you try it. But the cupboards in this place are all too high for me to reach and your dad isn’t home from work for another hour, so I had to take matters into my own hands.”
Silently, I set the bag and drinks down on the kitchen island, and crept around until I was directly behind them.
“You know the deal,” they continued, apparently oblivious to my presence. “I’ll wipe the counters down when I’m done, and I’ll let you get high if you don’t tell - Pierre! Shit!”
I was glad I’d come closer when Blake turned around mid-sentence and almost lost their balance when they spotted me. It was only my quick reflexes that kept them from falling off the counter, my hands whipping out to grip their hips and steady them. It didn’t stop their upper body from tipping forward at the waist until their hands landed on my shoulders, their chin narrowly avoiding colliding with the top of my head.
“Now look who's using drugs to bribe the furbabies,” I said mildly despite the rapid beating of my heart in my throat as I adjusted my grip and lowered them to the floor, noting with some horror that they were wearing the fluffy yellow socks they loved to pad around the house in. We were lucky they hadn’t slipped off the counter and brained themself on the island. And from the negotiations I’d walked in on, I gathered this wasn’t the first time Blake had pulled this stunt in the month they’d been cohabiting with me since they’d been forced to vacate the apartment that had come with their artist residency.
“How often do you climb up there when I’m not home?”
Blake shrugged, avoiding my eyes as they bent to pick up Applepuff, who was now stretching up on hind legs to reach for them. A far cry from the disdain she’d shown Blake when they first started coming over. Snowball and Pretzel were weaving around both our legs. “Any time I need something off the top shelf?”
I did some quick mental math and didn’t like the numbers I came up with. “Blake…”
“I always wipe it down after,” they assured me, like that’s what I was worried about. “And despite what it sounded like, I don’t just go about giving them catnip willy-nilly without asking you first.”
“There’s a stepladder in the garage,” I pointed out. “Or the chair right there.” I pointed to the chairs at the kitchen table that would definitely have given Blake enough height to reach what they needed without risking their life on the counter.
“But they’re both so far away from where I need them. By the time I go and grab one and bring it back I’ve wasted a bunch of time and-” They cut themself off when they lifted their head from accepting the nuzzles that Applepuff offered and caught sight of the look on my face. I made no effort to hide how I felt.
Blake released Applepuff back to the ground and stepped closer, placing one hand over my heart that was still coming back down to a normal speed, the other reaching up to cup the side of my face. “I’m sorry I scared you. I promise I’ll try to remember to use the step ladder next time.”
“Thank you,” I breathed, wrapping them in a tight hug for a long moment until I felt centred again. “I brought meatball subs for dinner,” I explained, nodding to the paper bag and drinks on the counter. “We should eat before they get cold.”
They cut their gaze from me to the bag and back, eyes narrowing. “From Pino’s?”
Steph had introduced Blake to her favourite meatball subs from Pino’s a couple months back, and it was like love at first bite. Blake had declared them the best subs they’d ever tasted and had booed loudly when I’d deigned to bring Shorty’s inferior substitute home a week or two later. Not that they weren’t good. They just weren’t Pino’s.
“After the reception I got last time? I wouldn’t dare present you with anything but the best,” I said with mock solemnity.
Blake’s face split in an excited grin. Bouncing up on their tiptoes to press a quick kiss to my jaw, they practically skipped over to the food, carrying it past the kitchen table, across the hall and into the living room. How they managed such movement without slipping and sliding all over the smooth tiled floor, I had no idea, but I decided to count my blessings and just be grateful they didn’t injure themself on the way out of the room.
We sat side by side on the couch as we ate, and discussed our days.
I gave them a brief update on the latest developments in the undercover case Lester was working with Leni, one of the Rangeman team members from the Boston office that he had a, shall we say intimate history with.
Apparently, Leni had had to fabricate a fiancé in order to give a believable excuse to turn down one of the associates she was trying to get close to, and as luck would have it, she still kept photos of Lester in her phone from their many hook ups over the years. One thing lead to another, and Leni had been forced to bring Lester in on the operation. Which was wreaking all kinds of havoc on Bobby who, from what I could tell, had still not confessed the true depth of his feelings to his best friend.
And watching the way Leni and Lester were practically in each other’s pockets in the break room today, I couldn’t blame the medic.
Blake grimaced at my description, shaking their head forlornly. “I thought for sure that Lester cottoned on months ago,” they said, reaching for a napkin on the coffee table. “There was a massive change in his demeanour between the first two times I met him, but then he was straight back to flirting with the waitress at Shorty’s like nothing had happened.”
I nodded my agreement, but had nothing more to add to the topic. And it certainly wasn’t what I wanted to spend my evening dwelling on.“Enough about Lester. How was your day?”
Blake told me about the progress they’d made on their latest painting this morning. A portrait of Applepuff, Snowball and Pretzel in their cat tree, but done in such a way that apparently referenced old Renaissance period paintings of artist studios. With their own unique twist, of course. They’d been inspired by their current makeshift set up in the sunroom at the back of the house where the cats like to watch the birds in the backyard.
With the new paraphernalia in their space, the furbabies had taken to watching Blake too. And more than once in the few weeks they’d been sharing the space, the cats had become a little too curious. Pretzel constantly had to be discouraged from lapping at the paint water, and Snowball still had a slight orange tint to her front paws from where she’d decided to try to help with the initial colour wash layer.
All four of them had settled somewhat into the new routine now, but I couldn’t help but acknowledge that the space wasn’t exactly ideal for a full time artist studio. There was only so much room to spread their paints and references. No sink or other facilities meant Blake had to carry their brushes through the house to the laundry whenever they were done painting and ready to clean up. And the furry terrorists couldn’t be trusted enough for Blake to leave their paints and paraphernalia in place between sessions.
I knew they were grateful for the use of the space while they were staying here, but the thought that they needed better had been niggling at me for a few days. And now with the realisation of just how unsuited the storage height in the kitchen - and likely the rest of house - was to Blake’s short stature, the cogs were turning in my head.
I let the thoughts percolate some more while we watched a couple episodes of the tv show Blake was currently obsessed with, then excused myself to my office to do some research.
That’s where Blake found me hours later, hunched over the keyboard, the room lit only by the computer screen. I glanced up from the plans I was crafting to find their pyjama-clad form leaning against the door jam, rubbing one eye under their glasses.
“Bedtime,” they stated, the directive losing some of it’s punch as they yawned around the word.
“I’ll be there in a minute. I’m just finishing up,” I assured Blake, my lips quirking up into a small smile as Applepuff, Snowball and Pretzel wandered into the room as well, plopping down in front of Blake’s feet as ‘Puff let out a light, grumbling mrow, to let me know that my disrespect for the slumber needs of the rest of the household had not gone unnoticed. By no means did we have a rule that we all had to go to bed at the same time, but judging by the crease marks on Blake’s cheek, I surmised that they’d already been asleep for some time and come to look for me when they’d woken up to find me still absent.
I grimaced down at the clock displayed in the corner of the screen. It was almost oh-one-hundred. No wonder they’d gathered the search party.
“What are you working on?” Blake asked, padding into the room and peering over my shoulder.
“Just some house upgrades,” I said, clicking through to the document where I’d dumped and annotated some images to show them what I was thinking. “I found these shelf systems that allow you to pull the shelves out and down so you can reach them easier,” I explained, pointing to the various versions I’d dumped into the document. “That way you don’t have to climb on the counter or chair, or go get the step ladder.”
They shook their head on another wide yawn. “You don’t have to do that for me. I went to the real estate yesterday to start the process of finding a new apartment, so I’ll -“
My head jerked around to stare at them so fast I almost gave myself whiplash.
Their eyebrows winged up over the rim of their glasses in surprise. “What?”
“I didn’t realise you wanted to move out,” I said quietly, gripping the edge of the desk tightly.
Blake shook their head slowly side to side, dragging their brows back down to frown at me. “Not really,” they said. “But I figured you’d want your space back, so…” they trailed off on a shrug.
“Not really,” I countered with their own words, turning my chair to face them more fully and forcing myself to let go of the desk so I could reach for them instead. “Blake, I thought I made it clear that I want to be with you. I like having you here. No, scratch that. I love having you here. I love knowing exactly where you’ll be at the end of the day. Because wherever you are is where I want to be.” I paused, swallowing as a secondary thought occurred to me. “Unless you don’t want-“
Their hands were on my cheeks in an instant, pressing firmly to keep me from averting my gaze. “I want,” they declared, moisture shimmering at their lower lashes. “God, I can’t even articulate how much I want to be wherever you are, Pierre. Forever. Even if it means I have to get the step ladder every time I want to use the salad bowl.”
Reaching up, I swiped away their tears before they could fall, then speared my gaze to the side pointedly. “You won’t have to,” I told them, dislodging their hold on my head and dragging them onto my lap. “Because we’re going to make sure you can reach it with your feet planted firmly on the ground.”
“So long as you don’t expect me to do the building part,” Blake teased. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but a paintbrush is very different to a screwdriver.”
I was incredibly aware. When they’d first had the vision to use clear Perspex as their canvas so their mom’s paintings could be seen as part of the art piece without either modifying or replicating them, they’d asked for my assistance in rigging up something that would allow them to work on it while still keeping their mom’s painting in view. After watching Blake attempt to attach two pieces of the frame to the stand they’d insisted I hold steady for them, I’d quickly decided to take over, sending them out to grab something for lunch instead.
“I’ll handle the tools,” I confirmed with a short nod as I started scrolling to reveal the other plans I’d been working on. “You just tell me what storage and facilities you need in your new art studio.”
There was a moment of silence as Blake leaned in closer to the screen, squinting. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Rough plans to convert the shed into a fully equipped studio for you?” I supplied. “Yes, it is.”
They shook their head in what I thought was disbelief from what I could see of their expression at the odd angle, but then they tapped the very bottom of the screen, below the shed plans where the top of the next page was just visible. “Grippy socks? And are those the buttons that allow pets to talk?”
My cheeks heated. I was focused on showing Blake what I wanted to do for them that I’d forgotten I pasted the images and links to the safety upgrades in the same document.“Just in case.”
They shifted their weight to the side on my knee, frowning at me in confusion. “I think I understand the grippy socks,” they said slowly. “It really was thoughtless of me to climb up on the counter without any traction. But the pet buttons?”
I shrugged self consciously. “I saw an article about a cat that saved its owner’s life when he fell by pressing a special button that called an emergency line. I want to set it up so that if anything ever happens to you while I’m not home, the cats can press a button to call me.”
The amusement in their expression vanished in an instant. “Oh.”
“I know it sounds crazy, but you’re part of our pride now,” I told them earnestly. “I need to make sure we have the means to keep everyone safe.”
“Well now I feel bad for contemplating if it’s ethical to teach Snowball to swear,” Blake said with a rueful smile, effectively dispelling my uncertainty of a moment before as I barked out a laugh.
“Just Snowball?” I asked, and they nodded. “Why not ‘Puff or Pretzel?”
Blake scoffed. “‘Puff would never deign to use such vulgar language. And I could never, in good conscience, corrupt my poor little derp baby.”
I shook my head. “But Snowball is okay?”
They sent me a lopsided grin. “I think it would be funny if we gave her a button that had a recording of one of us yelling ‘fuck’ and teach her to press it to punctuate her screams. Or we record a button that says ‘idiot’ and teach her to use it whenever Lester visits,” they explained, then slid off my lap and pointed at the screen again. “Now hit save on that and come to bed. My pillow isn’t as comfortable as your shoulder.”
They padded off without a backwards glance, confident that I would follow. And follow I would. Anywhere. Anytime. Always.
End