#kittencatastrophe

kitten-catastrophe:

Yankee was saying it to be nice, though he wasn’t lying if he said he wasn’t concerned for the other. He did have a rough night, after all. “My favorite flower? Probably forget-me-nots. I’ve always been a fan of the more simpler flowers than the flashy ones. Can I ask why you’re asking?”

Forget-me-nots. They were very cute flowers, in Zoran's opinion. Though, because of their size, he wasn’t sure where he'd find a forget-me-nots bouquet.

kitten-catastrophe

kitten-catastrophe:

Yankee was in a pretty salty mood. He’d gotten in trouble a while ago thanks to a fellow comrade ratting him out while he slacked off. Sure, he was in the wrong, but did he care? No. So now he had to help load the ships with the necessary cargo for the upcoming mission. Talk about a drag, this wasn’t what he signed up to do. He wanted to fight, not load ships with supplies that no doubt would go to waste a week into sailing.

Delivering another box on deck, he went to grab a pile of supplies but noticed a few dames standing in the growing crowd. He gave one of the lovely brunettes a dashing smile, commenting on how she must be actual sunshine for she brightened his day immensely. The smile he got in return had him beaming even brighter, though it faltered when another comrade yelled at him to keep working. Giving her a wink, he turned to grab the supplies another man was standing beside. And judging from the looks of him, this guy definitely wasn’t from around here.

“Can I help you, buddy?” Might as well be polite, it’s not like he’s irritated at this guy. So with a friendly smile, he spoke to the man.

For a while, Aleksandr just stood there, like an idiot, wondering if he should ask one of the Americans if they needed help. He was stuck here until dusk anyway, so he might as well be useful. It wasn’t like he'd have anything to do until then.

He eyed a man with a shaved head who had just started to lift a box, and he was about to go over to him when someone else approached him. First, Aleksandr heard the voice, then he turned his head and immediately bit his lip. His English was rather rusty, and his accent had never been good to begin with. But how else was he supposed to communicate? "Not really... I was thinking perhaps I could help you instead." He fought the heat rising in his face-- God, his accent was terrible. The "not" sounded far too much like the French "non." "Thinking" like "theen-kin." The "per" in "perhaps" like "purr." The "could" like "cood." Jesus Christ.

The French ship arrived at morning. Someone said they'll be leaving tonight.

Two ships escaped France, slipping through the Nazis' hands. One made the short journey to Great Britain. The other, Aleksandr's ship, sailed to the United States of America. The trip took about two months, all with seasick comrades and ungenerously shared French wine. There were a few encounters the ship survived, though they lost up to twenty-three soldiers in the process. Aleksandr hadn't made any friends.

And as he and his fellows stepped onto the bay, he wondered if he would be able to get into a ship again, tonight, after missing solid ground so much.

They hadn't a place to stay. It was simple; they'd spend this day here in the city then come back to the bay in the evening to head to Africa, which would take a little over a month. Aleksandr, having been in the ocean for weeks, felt nauseous thinking about it, even though he wasn’t the one with any seasickness. He shoved these thoughts aside when one of his comrades mentioned something about real food and wanting to head to a restaurant. Another comrade cursed his mother in French and reminded him that they were at war-- so who knew if restaurants were a reality now?

It started an argument, not because the men where hungry but because sometimes, they just needed rude remarks and fighting. Aleksandr wondered if it helped them lessen the tension in their heart muscle.

Today’s birthday people are (yes it’s morning where I am):

Sparky → kitten-catastrophe And Yankee → (Also) kitten-catastrophe

Zoran had come and gone to the candle store too many times. He went at the beginning, left cluelessly, went to buy the DVD and shoes and glue for the card he was making, coming back to see the candles between each task. The final time he came there, he was about to give up on the idea of getting Yankee a candle. That is, until he noticed a scent he hadn’t noticed before.

Whiskers on Kittens!

Of course, since the candle was called Yankee and the scent had to do with cats, it was the perfect birthday tease. Zoran bought it without hesitation and checked off his final item on the shopping list.

He carried a few bags as he walked toward the mall’s gate. Who could have pictured it– Zoran in a mall, carrying a shopping bag from Nike out of all stores. It defied logic in two ways: Firstly, Zoran never went shopping. And secondly, his part-time job could barely make for enough saving to pay off his student loan, yet he went ahead and spent up to a hundred dollars on shoes anyway.

Damn, Yankee changed him significantly, and they weren’t even married yet.

Aaaaand Zoran thanked God quietly that Yankee couldn’t read his mind, because sometimes he just thought the dumbest things. Who said Yankee wanted to marry him?

Again with the sulking in his head. Sometimes, Zoran wondered why he had to be so silly. He wondered that now, as he approached the exist– but something caught his eye and made him forget his sulking completely.

Rings. Out of all things.

It wasn’t that Yankee was a nerd who probably liked The Lord of the Rings, but something just drew Zoran to the shiny display– and no, it was not the shininess either.

His eyes scanned the brief rows, looking for something that reminded him of Yankee. Most of these were women’s rings, to begin with, but Zoran’s gaze eventually settled on a small collection in the corner. Most were completely plain, others had patterns. Zoran especially liked the pattern that looked like a braid; it reminded him of connecting, intertwining.

He was getting it for Yankee.

The very idea of getting Yankee a ring gave Zoran goosebumps. People got rings when they proposed. Zoran was not proposing, but it still felt like he would be if he got a ring.

Which made him want to get it even more.

It could be a promise ring. He’d give it to Yankee and ask him to wear it wherever he goes, to never take it off. The everlasting presence of it was a promise.

It wasn’t expensive, and Zoran hadn’t planned for it to be. He tucked it into his pocket, not trusting a plastic bag with it, and hurried home to prepare before Yankee’s shift ended.

Promise me that no matter where we go, I am yours. That you will keep remembering: I am the ring on your finger. Keep me. Promise you’ll keep me, and remember I love you.