kitten // l.s.

o n e

"petit garçon, what are you doing here?" i ponder as my shined gucci loafer clicks on the wooden stair. there's a meager boy curled in fetal position, minuscule body quivering on my doorstep, salty tears stinging the brim of his glassy emerald eyes. he has luscious ringlets that brush slightly against his petite, bare shoulders and is allowing low whines to float past his strawberry lips. my face is twisting into a perplexed expression, bushy brows furrowing and arid mouth pursing.

"what is your name, jeune?" i question the trembling boy, azure orbs racking his scrawny appearance. it takes a brief moment for my blurry vision to adjust to the dimly lit patio, but a soft gasp escapes my husky throat as i focus on the two tufts of ivory fur poking out from underneath the silky curls.

"are those feline ears?" i ask, running my calloused fingers through the head of feathery locks perched upon my broad figure. my mind is racing, peculiar thoughts lingering in the shadows. i'm both perplexed and astonished, kneeling down to observe the supposedly feral creature. it, he, cocks his frail head to face me, immediately scurrying to huddle by the front door in fear. damp beads fall from his glossy eyes, forming dark spots in the light wood beneath him. he's afraid, i decide, feeling a blanket of sympathy cloak over my muscular body. heaving a deep sigh, i fish the golden key out of my trouser pocket and shove it into the fitting hole, twisting it until the door swung open without a creak.

"come on in, garçon chaton," i say, waiting patiently for the kitten boy to slink into the front room. he simply stares at my blemished face, pouty lips gaping in confusion. frowning, i step over the fragile creature, eliciting a small squeak from it, and gesture for him to follow me into the immense home. it blinks its arid eyes rapidly before cautiously crawling into the foyer and looking up at my tall frame. i gently shut the door behind the boy, then purse my thin lips, a deafening whistle sounding throughout the corridors, expecting the cat to follow. the feline boy instead lets out a frightened shriek, burying its delicate face in his slim thighs, skin a pale porcelain shade.

"do not be afraid, joli garçon," i speak with my thick french accent. "i can give you some clothes and a meal if you follow me."

this sentence seems to capture the boy's attention, as a dimple forms in his rosy cheek and he lets out a squeaky meow. i chuckle slightly, nearing the kitten with caution, then run my tattooed fingers through his darling curls and daintily scratch the white tufts. he purrs, leaning into the warm touch.

"do you want me to bring you some clothes, la mignonne?" i ponder, awaiting a response. the feline nods, flashing his pearly whites. a grin plasters itself on my face, the stubble that outlines my mouth rising. i fulfill my promise, trudging lazily up the staircase and snatching an adidas tee that would surely be oversized on the boy, as well as a pair of clean burgundy boxers.

"here you go chéri," i say, placing the neatly folded clothing articles in a stack near the delicate child. i contemplate on his age, but after admiring the feline for an extended amount of time, i decide on anywhere between fourteen and sixteen, considering his lanky and meager demeanor. he just stares at the fabric in confusion, looking back up to me for help. blinking, i realize that he longs for me to assist him dressing.

i unfold the shirt, holding the collar above the head of ringlets and allow it to fall onto the boy's petite shoulders. from there, i pull his slender arms through the holes and fluff out any wrinkles. then, i delicately push the boy, back facing the marble tile beneath him, and wrangle the cozy material over his bum. he giggles cutely, then pass over to my clothed lap and nuzzles into my dress shirt, inhaling my signature cologne aroma. it's silent for a brief moment, the only sound audible is the soft hitched breaths of the tired kitten boy. after a while, i begin to hear quiet snores, so i swoop the small feline into my grasp and lay him in the spare bedroom across from mine to rest.

three hours later, i hear loud cries echoing throughout the corridors.

my immediate response is to sit up with a jolt, slamming my laptop shut and discarding it on the marble tile. i feel my knuckles fading ivory as they clench into a fist, prepared to attack. a second passes as i realize it's just the kitten boy, most likely in need of company or comfort. so, i step over the cord that connects to the heated machine and enter the room across from mine.

"jeune enfant, why must you cry?" i question, perching myself on the edge of the bed. the feline boy's bottom plump lip quivers, dainty fingers entwined with the plush sheets beneath him. each sob that escapes his throat is followed by a hiccup, making waves of guilt rush over my body. he waits a moment, then crawls over to me and leans his curly head into my leg, toying with the end of my worn shirt. it bats the frays in the fabric, giggling quietly to himself. tears no longer stain his glistening cheeks, they only flush a deep crimson.

"my name is louis tomlinson," i tell the cat while he looks up at me through parted eyes, ebony pupils diamond shaped. "will you tell me yours?"

the feline shrugs, jutting out a bottom cherry lip. i furrow my brows.

"can you speak?" i ask, cocking my head to the side. the boy heaves a squeaky sigh before replying.

"h-harry can speak," he says, stumbling over his words in the most adorable british accent i've ever heard. "j-just shy."

"you're lovely," i say. "is harry your name?"

"y-yes master louis," he responds. my chapped lips curl into a frown.

"you can just call me louis, gentil garçon."

harry furrows his plucked brows, face twisting in confusion at my foreign words.

"french," i explain. "i send my dearest apologies to you, minou, if it is a disruption to our conversations."

"n-no!" harry insists. "h-harry likes it when louis speaks f-fwench."

i chuckle at his mispronunciation, ruffling his head of luscious ringlets, being sure not to hurt his ears. "are you a cat?"

"h-harry is a hybrid," the kitten boy explains. "this means he is a k-kitty and a hoo-man!"

"a hoo-man," i repeat. "you sure have a funny way of saying it, mon amour."

"h-harry is funny," he giggles, snuggling closer to my clothed knee. we sit for a moment in silence, taking in the slight breeze that pours in from the cracked open window and inhaling the fresh aroma of lilies. it's nice yet peculiar, considering the kitten boy attached to my thigh, but i don't mind. i've always desired to take care of someone, whether it be an animal or a human. from the age of fifteen i've had the pleasure of knowing that i'm not attracted to women. my parents never accepted it. i, myself, refused to believe it, forcing myself into relationships with girls and pretending that i enjoyed it when they wanted to press their crimson stained lips elsewhere than mine. now, with this feline boy temporarily in my home, i feel good. i feel great, actually. so, i caress circular motions into harry's back, eliciting a low purr from him, and decide that this is what i want my future to look like. a pure man, regardless of whether or not it's harry, that i can protect from the corrupt world.

this is it. this is what it looks like.