for: open ( @pinehavenstarters )
He was doing a late shift at the shop today, trying to get a particular job completed by tomorrow. Had it not been for his stomach growling that it was time to eat, having skipped breakfast and lunch, Emilio would’ve probably worked the entire night through. Many times he got lost in his work. He told himself he would have a smoke break, during that time, he could use it to think of what he would eat. Thankfully, the night wasn’t terribly cold that he couldn’t stand outside for a few moments. That’s when he hears it: a tiny, pitiful mew from under one of the parked cars across the lot. He squints, crouches low, and spots the small shape—a scrawny black kitten, soaked and shivering, wedged tight against the wheel well. Eyes wide, ears flat, looking like it’s one loud noise away from bolting for good.
“Easy, pequeño,” he mutters, voice softer than he usually lets it get. He stubs out the cigarette half-smoked, drops to one knee on the wet pavement, and starts talking low and steady, the way he does to skittish bikes or people who’ve had a rough night. He digs in his pocket for the half-crushed granola bar he keeps for late shifts, breaks off a piece, and sets it just within reach. The kitten hisses once, then sniffs, inching forward. Emilio doesn’t move, just keeps murmuring nonsense in a mix of English and Spanish—promises of dry towels and warm milk if it’ll just come out. After a long minute, it finally creeps forward, trembling, and lets him scoop it up in one careful palm. Tiny claws prick his skin, but he doesn’t mind. He stands, cradling the little thing against his chest to warm it, when he hears boots crunching on the gravel behind him.
Emilio turns, dark eyes lifting to meet whoever’s approaching, the kitten tucked safe against his ink-covered forearm. He tilts his head toward the bundle of wet fur. “Is this little guy yours?”
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