#cats exists in intersectionality stew - proper slang terms? depends

[the-cat-at-the-theatre-door]

Anonymus asked: Skimblegus + Asparagus’ POV (tumblr ate the ask)

So I, for fear of trust, forget to say

The perfect ceremony of love’s rite,

And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay,

O’ercharg’d with burthen of mine own love’s might.

- Sonnet 23, William Shakespeare

As with most of his acquaintances, Asparagus meets Skimbleshanks through Jennyanydots. 

Jenny is, bless her heart, a walking, talking social club. And who Jenny knows, Jellylorum knows (of course), and who Jelly knows, Asparagus, ultimately, gets to know as well. That’s the way it’s always been, to varying levels of success. It wasn't that he was incapable of going out and making his own acquaintance - he was perfectly capable, thank you - he just had little desire to. He already had enough friends that he enjoyed being around. Why bother going out and making more when all he really had to do, if he really did want new ones, was wait around until somecat appeared? 

That's how it happened when Jennyanydots came back to the Junkyard one morning dragging an unfamiliar tom behind her. He looked vaguely perplexed - as though he wasn't sure how he'd gotten there. Knowing Jenny, that was a very likely possibility.

They had made their introductions. Well, Jelly had anyway; if Jennyanydots was President of their social club, Jellylorum was just a step under. Asparagus didn't have to do much other than nod politely and reach for his paw. Skimbleshanks had bowed his head and reached his paw out in turn. It was warm, he recalls, and slightly shaky. Or maybe that was his own; hard to tell. 

"Didn't I tell you - such a nice tom. And very handsome, too," Jenny had whispered to Jelly, though Asparagus had only caught the tail end of it. He was too busy trying to keep the details straight as they all chatted, and trying to politely avert his eyes when Skimbleshanks turned on him, lest he think he was staring at him. 

Which he wasn't. 

Not with any alternative intent anyway - just curiosity.

For whatever reason, when the girls finally step back, Skimbleshsnks takes an interest in Asparagus. Whether it was genuine or just polite, he couldn't figure, but they got to know each other regardless. They had to - they were presumably set to run in the exact same circle. It would be awkward otherwise.

Asparagus has been told, more than once, that he’s rather eclectic in the conversation and social department. And he could see their reasoning; he was very much in the habit of flitting from topic to topic in a way that only seemed to make logical sense in his own head. But then, that was perhaps less so eclectic and more because he wasn't in the habit of talking often enough to practice his turn of phrase; usually Jellylorum did enough talking for the both of them, and he got away with nodding and listening. That is what he did best, after all: listening.

And he does plenty of listening to this new tom, who is bright eyed and quick witted and, quite frankly, could charm a snake right out of a basket. 

Skimbleshanks, he finds out, is not just new to their Junkyard, he's new to the country entirely. Asparagus, having grown up around cats from various different places, takes the information in stride with interest but little fanfare. When asked if he were just visiting, Skimbleshanks had made a vague, uncertain noise and left it at that. He instead listens to polite exchange, his flights of fancy, the extent of his trip, various nothings that transpire between them, and Asparagus takes it all in, nodding and, occasionally, prompting him further. 

Eventually he speaks to him, as he does any other, and he cannot help but note how Skimbleshanks listens intently to what he says in turn, even as his knee bounces with what he presumes to be nervous energy. Skimbleshanks seems full of nervous energy, should his darting eyes and twitching tail be any indication. But he never once stops paying attention, even as the topics ping-pong back and forth. He parrots back what he's told, he asks questions, he smiles and jokes and follows along. And Asparagus indulges himself in conversation, if only for the joy of being listened to; he seemed a very nice tom indeed.

-*-*-

Having apparently made a good impression, their first meeting becomes a prelude to many, many, many meetings afterwards. Exaggeration notwithstanding - it very much goes from not having known the tom before, to knowing just about everything about him in the span of several days. 

My, how he liked to talk, and my, my, he was difficult to fully keep up with. This Asparagus has come to know well. And, strangely, he doesn't mind at all.  

Skimbleshanks, Asparagus has also come to know, is always and constantly on the go. At all hours of every day - there is always somewhere he needed to be.

“I’m afraid I have to go," Skimbleshanks says at the tail end of the first week of their budding acquaintanceship, looking genuinely remorseful. 

Asparagus tilts his head, curious; slightly disappointed. He does not ask him why- perhaps he fills in a few blanks unfairly. 

"But I'll be back in a few days," he continues, tail perking up. "I've been invited back to your Junkyard, did you hear? Jenny's been quite insistent. And I think I'll take the invitation up - I quite like it here."

Of course he'd been invited to stay. Skimbleshanks had slotted neatly into their group like he'd been there the entire time. How he seemed to get on with practically everyone he came across was a feat in itself, but hardly a surprise. He was polite and agreeable - if a bit fussy - and had a way of endearing cats to him instantly. The girls love him, the kittens love him; even Old Deuteronomy loves him, according to Jenny's report (though he loves all cats). Him staying on wasn't so much of a question of them, but of Skimble himself. And, as luck should have it, he was more than happy to stay.

Asparagus barely catches the next words, too hung up on how pleased he was that the other tom was staying. "I do hope to see you again! You're an interesting sort and I'd like to continue this, if you would."

Almost bashfully, Asparagus glances down. "I won't be far."

When he looks back up, Skimbleshanks has disappeared. Marvelous, Asparagus thinks, bemused - he's a magician, too.

-*-*-

Skimbleshanks makes good on his word; Asparagus is always one of the first cats he seeks out when he comes back, and often the last he greets before flying off again. They've become such fast and good friends, Asparagus feels as though he'd known him all his life.

Being with Skimbleshanks had become…comforting in a way that Asparagus couldn't quite describe. As a creature of routine and habit, it became a familiarity he often fell back on, and it fit so well in his week to week that he welcomed it with open arms. It had become so comforting, in fact, that he found himself more so with his guard down than up. Odd. Usually it took him a lot longer than that to open up.

"Have you ever been to a picture show before?" Asparagus finds himself asking one day after his latest return, out of the blue, staring at a spot just above the wire fence. They had been talking on where they grew up - at least Asparagus thinks that's what they had been talking about. There had already been six tangents and they'd barely gotten past parentage. How he had gotten on the topic of film now, Cat only knew.

"You know?" Skimbleshanks trails off, clearly trying to remember. "I don't believe I have. Never had the chance. Not many theatres in the barn, you know?"

"You really must try it," Asparagus says cheerfully, feeling his tail tick as it did when he reached a topic that particularly interested him. "Remarkable things, they are. My father calls them new-aged rubbish, but there is something about them."

"I would love to, certainly." Skimbleshanks stretches, delicately adjusting his ear. "When are you available?"

The metronome swaying of Asparagus' tail paused, thrown off its rhythm. He glances towards his companion. "Pardon?"

"When are you available?" Skimbleshanks repeats, minding to annunciate. He laughs a little, though Asparagus wasn't certain what he found amusing. "I rather hoped you would come with me." 

Asparagus felt very much like a fish caught in a net, opening and closing his mouth dumbly, practically choking on his surprise. The other tom seemed to realize that he may have made an error the longer the silence stretched, and shifted on his haunches. "That was an invitation, wasn't it?"

Was it? Had he meant it as one? "I…I suppose?"

"Wonderful," he says, looking…tentatively relieved. "Tell me when is best for you, and I'll make time."

Asparagus struggles to keep the stammer from his voice. "I…alright."

"Alright!" the other tom echoes, clasping his paws together. "Apologies, but speaking of punctuality, I must be going. It was nice chatting with you, Asparagus, as always."

"Likewise."

Skimbleshanks turns on his heel with a grin and bounds away, leaving Asparagus staring after him, wondering what had just happened. Usually, when he brought up such things, it was treated as a passing fancy, maybe a brief flicker of interest. Not an…outing? Was that what this was? An outing?

Asparagus clears his throat, bewildered. Well, then. 

-*-*-

Skimbleshanks stifles a yawn as the two toms sneak out from the theatre's rafters and onto the roof next door. "That was rather long, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Asparagus returns, amused, carefully hopping down.

"Are they all that long?"

"Not all," Asparagus explains, leading his companion through the broken door and into the building. "Mind your head - they're a bit like live theatre in that they vary. The difference is that it's visually the same each time. But the music changes, depending on who's playing."

Skimbleshanks nods at the explanation. "I'll be honest - I don't think it's quite for me. At least not at that length. Next time maybe let's try a shorter one."

"Next time?" Asparagus echoes, watching as the other tom pauses in the sun filtering through one of the windows and closes his eyes. To be honest, Asparagus had hardly noticed the length of time that had passed since the two of them had settled in to watch; he'd been far too preoccupied.

"Aye, I like to give things a fair shot." 

Asparagus can't help the smile that tugs on his muzzle. Another admirable trait of his. Perhaps they'd skip the drama next time. He wondered what he'd have thought if he'd taken him to a live epic instead - wonders if he would have preferred that.  "Alright then. Thank you for coming with me this time."

"Thank you for taking me!" Skimbleshanks returns brightly, opening his eyes to face him. They seem to sparkle when they catch and Asparagus finds himself shifting under their intensity. "I do enjoy your company. You light up, you know, when you talk about these sorts of things."

Asparagus blinks, ears suddenly hot. "Do I?"

"Tremendously so. It's very charming."

Before he can think of how to respond to that, the other tom continues quickly:

"And thank you for reading the cards to me - I think I would have been more lost without them." He shakes his head and clasps Asparagus' shoulder. "You're very clever. You'll have to teach me to do that sometime."

"I'd…be happy to."

"Another time of course. Now, we must be going and I am not sure of the way. Walk me back, won't you? And maybe explain that plot once more; I've almost got it."

Asparagus exhales, trying to calm the tightening in his chest. "Certainly."

-*-*-

Asparagus feels…funny. 

That is not at all the appropriate terminology for the current push and pull playing tug of war with his insides, but all he can muster in his vernacular is "funny"; he feels awfully and truly funny. 

There is a reason for this sudden persistent feeling that has him even more distracted than usual, and Asparagus wouldn't classify himself as so scatterbrained that he didn't have an idea of what it was. But it wasn't so much the logic or reasoning that was shying away from the pinpointing, oh no; it was Asparagus himself. Asparagus himself second guessing and questioning every possible angle and motive, twisting himself in knots as he tries to convince himself that it was all just a…a coincidence. That's what it must be. A coincidence. Skimbleshanks is just a nice tom; he was nice to everyone. He wasn't paying Asparagus any more attention than he would any other cat. He wasn't being any kinder to him than he was to any other, telling him such things as he did. That was it, surely. Everything he'd said or done is just what friends did - and the two of them had become very good friends, hadn't they? The best of friends. He hadn't ever met anyone like Skimbleshanks before, who cared so much for what he had to say and seemed so interested in what he did, and Asparagus was very thankful for his company. 

He doesn't want to…hope too much - project too much - lest he ruin that entirely.

However, there is that inkling that scratches persistently at the back of his skull, just at the base where it's hardest to reach. And…he doesn't know what to do about it. It's all very confusing. 

In the end, he does what he always does: he calls upon the advice of the only cats he trusts enough to ask. Shame that they're the same cats that will have the news clear across the Junkyard in less time than it takes him to ask, but such is life.

He waits for an afternoon when it's just the three of them (four counting the surprise but always welcome visit from Hathor), as it had been for longer than he cared to remember. Asparagus sits amongst his friends, enjoying the warmth of the summer sun on his back, trying to figure the least conspicuous way to go about this as possible. Then again, Asparagus was anything but inconspicuous. It ran in the gene pool. The only way he could think to do it was simply ask.

"What is one to make of being complimented ad nauseum without reason?" 

"Speak plainly, Pan." Jellylorum rolls her eyes, not looking up from the frayed costume hem she was mending. "This isn't a monologue."

Asparagus wrinkles his nose, having half a mind to shove her if she didn't have a sewing needle in her paw. Hathor snickers, and he feels the heavy weight  of her tail hitting his side.

"I mean," he corrects, crossing his arms. "If somecat says nice things out of the blue all the time, what exactly does that mean?"

"Never received a compliment before, Asparagus?" Jenny teases, tightening the knotted cords of her fishing net with a crisp snap. 

"I have, but usually there was a reason for it," Asparagus clarifies, ear twitching. "As in I've done something worth complimenting." 

"So you haven't ever been complimented before, then," Jenny affirms cheekily.

The queens giggle in their shared amusement. Asparagus frowns at them. "Honestly, you three are terrible."

"You very much love us," Jenny coos, tossing her length of finished net behind her, leaning over to balance her chin in her paws. She grins at him, batting her lashes, and Asparagus rolls his eyes.

Jellylorum snips her working thread between her teeth and shifts her project aside, tucking her tail around herself and turning her attention fully towards him. She very much reminds him of their father then, sharp eyed and curious. "Alright, what's this about then? What's got you in such a tizzy?"

"I'm not in a tizzy," Asparagus insists.

“You’re in a something, don't think I haven't noticed!" Jelly points out, wagging a claw in his direction. "Go on: what is it?"

"I just…where's the line between simply being nice and being overly complimentary with an ulterior motive?"

"An ulterior motive? Come now, Pan," Jellylorum clucks. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Why else?" Asparagus points out.

His sister sighs in return, pressing the bridge of her nose between her paw pads. "Okay, I'll play along: what sorts of nice things?"

Asparagus picks carefully from his memory, plucking things here and there that made his insides feel particularly mushy - the comment on his eyes, the admiration of his coat, his voice, his stories - trying to paint a broad enough picture without exposing the entire composition. He'd prefer to keep some of his cards to the chest, lest things take a turn for the awkward when the cat in question came back.

When he finishes, the three queens exchange a raised glance and giggle once again. Suddenly, Asparagus is all too aware that he'd not been privy to several chapters in this particular book. They were near the end and he hadn't even cracked the spine yet. "What's so funny now?"

"Sounds to me that someone likes you," Jennyanydots teases, whacking Jellylorum's shoulder with the back of her paw knowingly. Hathor nods her agreement, eyes falling closed.

"I would certainly think so," Asparagus says sarcastically. "Otherwise why would they keep talking to me?"

"No, no, they like you, Asparagus," Jellylorum corrects, emphasizing the word slowly as she did when teaching kittens to talk. "You know, in that other way. Enamored. Infatuated. Charmed and besotted and all the rest."

Asparagus quiets, suspicions confirmed.

"I…see. You think so?"

"Are you really so surprised?" Jelly asks, tone amused, though it doesn't quite hide the note of pity in her voice. "You're very charming when you want to be."

"Problem is you don't want to be," Jenny pipes up, avoiding the scolding poke Jelly aims at her ribs. Her eyes sparkle with mischief. "But Jelly's right. Now your turn, tit for tat, who is it?"

Asparagus stands and shrugs casually, trying not to let on how the confirmation had sent him into more of a tizzy than before. "None of your business, but thank you for the clarification." 

He chuckles at the chorus of indignant protest that echo behind him as he turns heel and walks off. Simple pleasures. 

He finds out later that they very much knew who, nosy nellies that they were. They knew who and they were, by all accounts, thrilled. Turns out, he wasn't the only one confused and overthinking; a sign, perhaps, that they were a better match than he had initially thought. 

Too bad for them, then, that if their confirmation has done anything, it's stalled it further

-*-*-

Asparagus has been skittish most his life, and it is no different in matters that involved any sort of emotional vulnerability. 

That's why several months pass, completely uneventfully and exactly the same as before, and he still hasn't been able to admit to himself that perhaps…perhaps Skimbleshanks did, in fact, like him, just as Jelly had said.

What utter school-boy nonsense. Liked him. Asparagus scoffs.

Still, the thought itself is…not at all an unwelcome one. Not at all. Just an anxiety inducing one. Coupled with the possibility that Asparagus himself lo…likes…hmm. 

No, none of that, now.

Skirting the issue does give him the chance to get to know Skimbleshanks even better than he did before, which he is more than happy to oblige with.

Were it not for all of these extra thoughts tangling together in the corners of his mind, he would be in no doubt whatsoever that Skimbleshanks is perhaps one of the best friends he has ever had. He is so bright and eager and willing, always on the go, always on to something new and interesting, always whistling or humming or jingling the tiny bell around his neck. There were times he didn’t understand a single word coming out of the other tom’s mouth, fast talker he was (Often, Skimbleshanks would prelude his chatting with a: “Do stop me if I’m haverin’, won’t you?” and Asparagus ignores it wholeheartedly), but that was, quite frankly, a joy in itself. Their sensibilities matched in so many ways and their opposites complimented each other well enough, that Asparagus occasionally finds himself wondering where he’d been all this time. It was a shame he was gone so often, but perhaps that only upped the intrigue - made him appreciate his company more when they were together.

Better than all of that, Skimbleshanks seems to enjoy his company in turn. He must, considering; even as polite as he was, Skimble had proved himself to have a limited well of patience. When he didn’t like something, he told you so, no nonsense and straight for the jugular. Skimbleshanks enjoys his company and doesn't seem to mind anything else. He doesn't mind that Asparagus is clumsy and has two left paws, when he himself is possibly one of the most coordinated dancers Asparagus has ever had the pleasure of watching. Doesn't mind that he isn't nearly as interesting or exuberant as some of the other cats around their age he could be spending his time with. Doesn’t mind his dramatics and turn of phrase and lower energy and the humming of the same four bars that had been stuck in his head all morning as he tries to figure out their continuation; doesn’t mind his long stretched silences, doesn't mind his offbeat sense of humour, doesn’t mind reminding him what day it was even when he asks three times in the same hour. Doesn't mind any of it - or at least, he didn't seem to.

When Asparagus apologizes for any of these things, Skimbleshanks shakes his head and smiles, silencing it with a: “No need” or an: "I wish you wouldn't" or, stranger and more preturbing still, a request for him to continue whatever it was. 

And Asparagus is nothing but grateful. For his companionship. For his patience and his indulgence. For the serious tilt of his muzzle even as his eyes sparkled with mirth. 

For making him feel…some sort of way every time he was around, the bother.

-*-*-

Like any good story, it does eventually reach its pique - its dramatic climax. Or, at the very least, it reaches a point where Asparagus cannot avoid it anymore. As said: Skimbleshanks had a limited well of patience, and it had been slowly drying up as the months went by. 

Skimbleshanks had come back on a Sunday morning in autumn (though maybe calling it a morning was too generous; it was still dark out), and, quite out of character for him at this hour (he was a very particular tom about his sleep windows, and Asparagus could hardly fault that), had sought Asparagus out first thing. Luckily (or unluckily), he happened to be awake, sitting atop an old chair, and thinking on his name. 

“Walk with me, won’t you?” Skimbleshanks asked, jaw set in something that looked to be a determined line, though it was a touch hard to tell from a distance. 

Asparagus saw no reason not to agree, and so finds himself walking alongside his friend in near silence, noting, carefully, that Skimbleshanks seemed distracted, but willing to wait until he was ready to tell him why. 

Their continued silence prompts Asparagus' own wandering mind, caught back on what he had been for months now, exasperated by how close the other tom was to him.

Like with everything else, he is overthinking it. It was simple: Asparagus is taken with Skimbleshanks, and he wanted Skimbleshanks to be taken in turn. He wanted a confirmation that he was taken in turn, not just an assumption or a hope. That's all. He could tell him right then; ask him right then. Throw his caution to the wind. What’s the worst that could happen? 

He could lose him. That was always the worst case scenario. He could lose him forever. Would the moment of relief it would bring have been worth it then? Was it not better then to just keep quiet? When I have plucked the rose, I cannot give it vital growth again.

And how would he do it? He hadn't even thought that far. Longing still for that which longer nurseth the disease - Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Would waxing poetic even work? Skimbleshanks wasn't much for such things. What did cats even say in these sorts of scenarios?

Asparagus puzzles over this, getting so lost in his own thoughts that he doesn't notice how Skimbleshanks reaches his paw out and -

Ah. 

He finds himself stopping abruptly, throwing off their forward momentum, unable to look up and at the other tom. He just stares at where their paws are now joined, the constant clicking and over turning of his mind that had no perceivable end, now settling almost instantly. Remarkable, how that's all it had taken. 

…Well, this was certainly an instigator. There is a decision to be made in the limited time he has - no more dilly dallying. Skimbleshanks had always been the forward sort, at least with most things. If he went looking for an answer, he expected to find one. 

Asparagus hesitates a second too long,  stares at it a second too long, because before he knows it -

"I'm…I'm sorry,” Skimbleshanks stutters, moving to pull away.  “I just - I didn't mean-"

Asparagus clutches hard, preventing his departure, and Skimbleshanks goes very still; more still than he's ever known him to be. 

Now…what to do with it? How to show him that, should this mean what he thought, that he understood? That he understood and…and reciprocated. He knew what he wanted to do with it, but Asparagus feared being too forward - such gestures were better reserved for later. He settles for tucking it in the crook of his arm, pressing it close and secure. He wonders if the other tom can feel how his heart is pounding.

Taking a deep breath, Asparagus finally looks up and tries to smile. 

"Oh…oh, thank goodness," Skimbleshanks sighs, playfully hiding his eyes behind his other paw, peeking back out at him from between his fingers. "I thought I had misread and was making a fool of myself." 

Asparagus feels so relieved he almost starts laughing. Almost.

"You were," Asparagus says plainly instead, amusement still bubbling in his breast. "But then, according to unanimous consensus, so was I."

Skimbleshanks looks slightly confused, slightly wary, but he thankfully glazes over the latter statement. Instead, he grabs his other paw and turns him so they are facing one another and, briefly, they are bridged. Connected. Asparagus thinks that perhaps he's never been so happy in his life thus far.

"Come - let's sit here."

The two sit hip to hip, as they usually did, but something about this time felt different; exponentially better. 

After a moment, Skimbleshanks hooks his long tail loosely through his own and Asparagus about stops breathing. He feels practically giddy, like a kitten tentatively touching tails for the first time. How ridiculous it all was. He feels like he could sing.

Scratch the previous script note; this is the happiest he's ever been in his life thus far. 

He senses Skimbleshanks watching him intently for a reaction, but he is too flustered to return it. "Is this alright?"

"It…is."

The words themselves are not exchanged, but they don't need to be. Asparagus knows what it means. Any cat worth their whiskers knew what it meant.

Still…

"Were you waiting on me? All this time?" he asks, watching as the dawn begins its slow saturation of the horizon.

"I had almost given up," Skimbleshanks admits, almost shyly. "I thought maybe you just weren't interested and you were trying to ease me off. But then you would do something to contradict that. I thought perhaps: 'Oh, he's bashful, of course, you need to be patient, that's all.' Then you would do something else to contradict that. 'Oh, he's not bashful he just doesn't think of you that way.' And you didn't say anything either way!" he laments, gesticulating his paws in the air. "You're a difficult nut to crack indeed."

Asparagus hums. "I've been told."

Skimbleshanks thought a moment more, eyes widening, his mouth running ahead before his head could catch up. He jostles his shoulder. "Not that I would have minded! Of course not, I would still enjoy your company regardless! Always. You're very much my friend and I would have hoped to keep it that way. I just thought that maybe -"

"Skimble, it's alright," Asparagus soothes, patting his arm. "I understand."

The other tom exhales and laughs. It's such a lovely sound, greeting the dawn that way. "Good, because if I wasn't before, I am making a proper fool of myself now.”

"Not to worry," Asparagus remarks dryly but he cannot keep the affection from dropping into his tone. "Lucky for you, I happen to like it."

-*-*-

From that moment on, everything is, as Skimble would say, full steam ahead. It's a wonder it had taken them so long when now it was practically a whirlwind in comparison. 

Skimbleshanks, bold and forward as he was (particularly now that he knew his attention was welcome), quite literally demands the heart from Asparagus' chest with every smile, every wink; every casually placed touch to his shoulder, his arm, his back; every interesting little trinket he brings back for him; every soft, doe-eyed look aimed his way (and he still needs to tell himself that those are, in fact, for him). And Asparagus gives it to him piece by piece, until the other tom holds it so tightly in his paws, he is certain, should he choose to crush it, to drop it, he perhaps may never recover. 

Such melodramatic rubbish it all was. 

And yet…and yet…

"Why me?" Asparagus asks quietly one evening, immediately regretting the question as it left his mouth. The embarrassment he feels creeping up his spine is strong, and he finds himself fearing the answer - or perhaps he was fearing the potential lack of answer more. He isn't certain.

"Honestly?" Skimbleshanks returns eventually, picking his head sleepily up from his shoulder. He doesn't need to ask for clarification; he knows. "I couldn't tell you - I couldn't describe it. There's just something about you, Asparagus, that I like very much."

There was that word again: like. Skimbleshanks does not mince words. His genuine honesty was one of his most attractive traits, and one that Asparagus valued more than most. Skimbleshanks had been nothing but honest with him since the day they'd met; Asparagus felt he owed him honesty in return.

"Can I be frank?"

"Always."

"I still can't quite believe it."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"All this time I was in a state trying to figure out if you were flirting with me, or if I were just filling spaces in myself because I…wanted you to be. Because I…I have a very good imagination, you know." Asparagus pauses, considering the extent of his next confession. He feels a thread of tension crawl through his companion, but he doesn't turn to confirm it. "Worse still: I thought you weren't serious about it - that you treated everyone that way. That it wasn't…special for me more than any other cat. And I wanted to know if I needed to come to accept that. But the thought that that could be a reality deterred me."

The wrinkle between the other tom's brow furrows. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"My ego is very fragile and I thought you may laugh at me," Asparagus chuckles, though it fizzles out with less humour than it began with.

"Oh, dear," Skimbleshanks murmurs. "If it was - is? - causing you so much trouble, why did you-" 

Asparagus shrugs, falling back on his remembered words. "'Tis better to have loved and lost…'"

"'Than never to have loved at all,'" Skimbleshanks finishes in co-narration, wrinkling his nose. "Yes, I know that one. How perfectly fatalistic of you, dear."

"My outlook on these things hasn't really ever been the best."

"Evidently," Skimbleshanks agrees, tilting his head so their whiskers just barely brushed. Asparagus suppresses a shiver but does not move. "No matter- we're here now. And for the record: you wouldn’t have lost me - and you never will, so long as I have something to say about it."

-*-*-

It is, certainly, not the first time Skimbleshanks has left on his adventures in the year Asparagus has known him now, nor would it be the last, but it was the first time he felt…wary at the concept. It was the first time he had actually come to watch him off, braving the bustling crowds of people swarming through the station like hoards of bees. Skimbleshanks had practically beamed when he'd asked to tag along. 

It was the first time the idea of him leaving, even for a day or two, sent pangs of legitimate upset through his body that were undeniably troublesome. 

He wonders forlornly if he would stay if he asked; thinks, just as quickly suffocating that thought, that he would never ask him to. He would, after all, need to get used to being the second love of Skimbleshanks' life, if his words were anything to go by.

Asparagus chews nervously at the inside of his lip as Skimbleshanks runs his paws over the front of his vest to smooth out any invisible wrinkles. "You will be back, won't you?"

He carefully refrains from the questions he wants to ask afterwards. You aren't going to run? You aren't going to leave me? You haven't changed your mind?

"Of course. I always am, aren't I?" Skimbleshanks shifts focus from himself and reaches to tuck a hair behind Asparagus' ear, brush the dust from his shoulder. He smiles in that heartachingly simple way of his, as though there were nothing in the world to be worried after. Asparagus wishes he were half as optimistic as Skimbleshanks always seemed to be; everything would be so much easier then, he was certain. 

"And perhaps," he continues, straightening his spine and tucking his paws neatly behind his back. Ever the picture of a proper tom was he, in direct contrast with the words that proceeded, whispered mischievously under his breath. "When I return, I will kiss you senseless. Right on this very platform, I think."

Asparagus blinks, feigning surprise. "In front of your Station Master? That's rather presumptuous, isn't it?"

"Is it?" Skimbleshanks tilts his head innocently. "Would you not want me to?"

"Now, now, I didn't say that."

The other tom grins again, shameless and unbothered as always, and leans forward quickly.  Asparagus feels the scratch of whiskers and the cool damp of a nose pressed to his cheek, hears the soft jingling of an open faced bell, and if he wasn't flushed before, he was practically aflame now. He wonders if anyone was paying them any mind; what they were thinking if they were; finds, very quickly, he doesn't care.

"Goodbye," Skimbleshanks says quietly.

"Good luck," Asparagus returns, resisting the urge to press his paw pad to the spot Skimble had just been, trapping the warmth against his skin just a little while longer. Asparagus finds himself at a sudden loss for words for what he wants to say; everything he wants to encapsulate in the seconds they have left, judging by the clock he sees just out of the corner of his eye. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes through.

There's a moment, just a moment, that Skimbleshanks seems to hesitate before he briskly steps away. 

"Do stay out of trouble while I'm gone."

Asparagus sighs.

"I'll try my best."

The whistle of the departing train pierces the air in a single, long bellow, and Asparagus does not hear whatever it is Skimbleshanks says next. The sound leaves his ears ringing, and before he knows it, before he can ask him to repeat it, Skimbleshanks has saluted and turned to saunter his way down the platform. Asparagus watches as he gets smaller and smaller; until he finally waves his tail behind him and disappears.

Whatever it was, he'll have to wait and find out; finds himself looking forward to it.

The urge becomes too strong for him as the train begins its departure, and Asparagus drops his face directly into his paws, warm and trembling. He exhales sharply, smiling like the infatuated fool he was.

Asparagus, old boy, he thinks, already counting the minutes down to when he would see the other tom again. You are well and truly in love, aren't you?