"Seriously, dude, you can just ask instead of holding shit in."
"I guess."
"Stubborn."
"Said the pot."
Used to?
What changed?
MASON
The sounds floating up to my balcony were as familiar as they were comfortable as I sat in a cheap plastic chair, legs propped up on the railing, one ankle over the other. It was nearly four in the morning, and the sounds of the late-night people and traffic had dulled as the partygoers and drunks filtered back to their places. The occasional voice drifted up from the street or nearby apartment, and the sound of cars was constant but not as strong as it had been even an hour ago. From the smell in the air, someone was microwaving fish, which should be considered a felony, and if the smell drifting on the wind was any indication, a few joints of dubious quality were being passed around.
That was until I took a drag off the thick cigar smoldering between my fingers. The rich smell filled my nostrils as I puffed heavily before attempting, and failing miserably, to blow steady rings that were torn apart by the wind blowing between the buildings. The majority of the city was asleep, just the way I liked it. Jace had passed out shortly after I'd brought him back to my apartment an hour ago, his off-and-on snoring a background to all the sounds of the slowly sleeping city.
I blinked when a shadow jumped into sight, the dark gray cat looking pitch black before moving into the light. "Evening, Nightshade, decided to join me, have you?"
The large tomcat eased down into a sitting position as he stared at me, large eyes catching the light and flashing the slightly unnerving yellow that always seemed to trigger some latent prey reflex in human brains. He kept his distance but still watched me, which I knew from experience meant he wanted to hang out but didn't want me to touch him. I would have to wait to see if he would approach and rub himself on whatever part of my body he chose before I would be allowed to pet him.
"Life is a strange, strange thing, Nightshade," I told him, also knowing that the more I talked, the more likely he was to warm up enough to want physical affection. Plus, it was nice to have something to talk to other than the air. "We always think we have a good idea of what it's going to do, what it's going to throw at us, but it's like it pays attention. As if it just wants you to get comfortable before throwing a spanner in the works."
A soft "mrep" came from the cat, and I nodded. “I know. Sometimes it's a good thing, sometimes it's not. I'm sure there's plenty of people, like the guy passed out in my bed like a freshman at their first rush party, who would say that sort of curveball is almost always bad. But I don't think that's the case at all. I think we're just programmed as humans to get so used to things that change, so it instinctively feels like a bad thing. Hell, even when the change is a bad thing, it's not that hard to see under the mask to find the good, all the potential for positive change in it."
I lapsed into silence as the cat blinked slowly at me, making me smile at the subtle gesture of affection. I'd had frequent visits from the little beast for a couple of years now, and I'd like to think we had a good understanding of one another. Of course, that understanding usually came with me handing overscraps here and there, usually whatever chicken or fish I had lying around, because the fussy bastard wasn't all that fond of cat treats. Then again, that was probably my fault, cats were like people in that regard. If you gave them the good stuff right off the bat, they came to expect it all the time.
"But life is strange because it just...does weird shit," I added for good measure, with a little chuckle. "I'll be honest. I never thought my life was going to take the turn it has recently, but hell, I guess it was getting too predictable, too comfortable. I guess deep down I expectedsomethingto come along and screw it all up, but, uh...not this."
The cat trilled, and I chose to take it as a question rather than the simple response to me talking to him that it undoubtedly was. “Well, the lightweight crashed out on my bed is, uh...well, let's just say he's a handful. And for once, I'm not talking about his dick. That's a handful too...and fills other things."
The cat stared back at me without moving because, of course, he had to be like everyone else I knew and didn't appreciate a bit of crass humor. "Fine, fine. Thing is, we used not to be able to stand each other. Now we...well, I don't know, we can kind of stand each other, but we also kind of can't at the same time. It's really hard to explain, but that's mostly because it's really hard for me to understand. The sex is great, and sometimes it feels like we might actually get along outside just fucking. Then I'm reminded that, no, we're not quite there yet. But those times are happening less and less, and it's just...what do you do with that?"
A soft sound from behind made me stiffen, and I wasn't surprised to hear Jace's sleep-roughened voice. “Are you talking to a cat?"
"Sometimes a man needs someone who’ll listen instead of arguing or throwing in their own opinion," I said with a shrug. Only for Nightshade to decide to give a soft meow. “Well, he hashis own views on things too, but they're a little easier to deal with than people's."
Jace shuffled into view, looking at my cheap patio furniture with an amusing display of confusion before pulling one of the plastic chairs close and easing down into it with the care of a large man who has broken chairs in the past. "Okay, and why are you deciding that a cat is the best one to talk to about, uh...us?"
"Nobody likes an eavesdropper."
"You're not denying it."
"Fine, yes, I'm talking to a cat about what's going on between us. Feel better?"
"Not really."
"Yeah, didn't figure you would. The only thing that seems to make you feel better is getting laid and making Micah smile."
He gave a little start at that, squinting at me. "Is that a bad thing?"
"Well, no...but you could certainly do with a few more things added to that list. Having a lot of things that make you happy certainly couldn't hurt."
"Sure."
I glanced at him, gesturing toward the small table near him. "Have a cigar if you want one."
"I don't smoke," he said, picking up the small package and looking it over.
