#ooh wait

okayokay so this is probably very obvious but. i reallly like this detail so im mentioning it anyway!!! as much of a pain as the face/clock/thing was to do (and it was,,) i think the detail of there only being 3 numbers was fun. timeloop (and 3)

Tap, tap, tap.

Ghost shoots upright, arms thrown up in front of him, shoulders tense, as he grits his teeth and prepares for a fight. It isn't until a second has passed that his surroundings blink into existence. The grogginess in his eyes and the pain in his neck tells him he'd fallen asleep on the couch again; all because he couldn't be arsed to walk all the way to the cold bed. The low drone of the fridge, some late night talk show from the flickering TV, and the thunderstorm howling outside his one bedroom apartment were the only noises around him. Well, those and-

Tap, tap, tap.

There was someone at the door. 

Hackles raised, he slips his mask on; quiet footsteps map his way to the front door and he swings it open, muscles ready for a fight again, only to be greeted by -

‘Hi.’

Oh, it's you.

His neighbour, the baker leasing the apartment across his; making you two the only two tenants occupying the fifth floor. He remembers the day you’d moved in like it was yesterday, probably because the event was barely a fortnight stale. He’d been leaving for a grocery run in the morning after realising that he was out of, well, everything. The elevator had dinged as soon as he’d stepped out of his apartment, and he’d turned around to be greeted by the sight of you, wild hair and sweaty, struggling to push a box that probably weighed as much as you through the doors before they closed. He’d offered to help, and the rest had been history.

Well, if you count helping you get all the boxes into your apartment without ever speaking to you, gruffly refusing your offer of breakfast, turning around and fucking off right back to his apartment, history. He’d missed his breakfast that day, not wanting to risk an encounter with you. Since then, your encounters with him had been limited to polite smiles and mumbled greetings.

He looks at you, clad in a sweater and pajamas, with socked feet. Getting ready for bed, he assumed. Was his TV too loud? (He liked the noise; it helped drown out other stuff). Had you come to tell him off?

‘Um, I’m sorry to bother you.’

If you had, you were doing a terrible job so far.

He blinks at you again, standing in front of him, a pile of clothing and apprehension?

You stare up at him, eyes sparkling and a hesitant smile on your lips. ‘Right, I shouldn’t have come, sorry if I woke you up-’, you cut yourself short, already turning in a hurry to leave, as it dawns on Ghost that his lack of response probably didn’t encourage neighbourly fraternization. He cleared his throat and tried to relax, slouching a little to appear less intimidating.

‘You’re no bother, what d’ya need?’

You perk up at that, eyes brightening. And Simon’s not sure why his heart skips a beat, or why he suddenly feels like he would chew off his right toe to see you smile like that again. He squashes the feeling immediately, a bug under his boots - there’s no room for another person in his life. Not anymore. Especially not for you, a woman in her prime, all bright eyes and naivete-

You snap him out of his reverie when you speak, hands flapping around, ‘Great! It’s a little urgent, that’s why I came over at night, I wouldn’t have dreamed of doing so otherwise -’, you jabbed a thumb over your shoulder towards your apartment before looking over your shoulder at Simon, the man blinking as he registers that you’d gestured at him to follow you ‘- I think there’s a cat stuck on the fire escape near my balcony.’

A cat.

'You having trouble locating the cat?'

You grimace. 'Yeah, I'm not done unpacking yet and all the boxes are sort of stashed in the fire escape so the stairs are blocked, I'm trying to clear it, I swear it's priority-'

Simon resists the urge to pinch his brow. 'Ya realize that's the only thing stopping us from dying a fiery death?'

'Yeah, like I said, top priority - but can you help me?'

Simon swallows his sigh and swings the door close behind him as you swing around to your apartment.

His bare feet follow you across the hallway, having to duck a little to avoid the decorations hanging from your doorway. 'Already decorating for Christmas?'

You look over your shoulder to see what he's referring to. 'Not really,' you shoot him a sheepish smile, 'I just couldn't be arsed to find a place to stash them - putting them up was easier, so I just-'

A tiny, weak mewl interrupts you, and Simon's ears perk up. There definitely was some thing stuck somewhere, and he sees you speed up a little, urging him to follow.

Simon does so, even as he scoffs at your answer. 'Practical of you. What d'you plan on doin' after Christmas?'

This time, you answer without turning, locked in on your mission to guide him to the beast in need of aid. 'That's for January me to deal with. The escape's just over here.'

Simon knew that, being as your apartment's layout mirrored his. He didn't volunteer this information, though - he just dutifully followed you through the door, joining you at the railing.

You were almost leaning over the railing, craning your neck upwards to locate the cat, not listening to his barked out warning to be careful. Another mewl, sharper and louder this time, pierced the otherwise quiet night, and you stretched your body further, on the very tip of your toes, and Simon sees you wobble, losing balance -

He's moving before he registers it, dashing forward to grab you by the waist. Large hands secured around your waist pull you back down, and as soon as he sees you regain your balance, Simon retracts completely, hands by his side, almost snapping to attention.

You're looking at him with wide eyes, hand over your heart. 'Yo- um, thanks, I-'

Simon cuts you off, 'Here, let me do it.'

You take your phone out of your pocket and switch the flashlight on before handing it to him. He accepts it and nods at you before hoisting himself over the railing, swinging past the stacked boxes blocking the stairs, and hoisting himself back over the railing on to the escape. He scans the place with your flashlight, cursing the broken lighting of the building, before another sharp mewl tells him the location of the cat - a kitten, by the looks of it, trembling in the corner against the last step. He creeps his way towards it, a hand outstretched as if to signal he means no harm. The little beast makes no attempt to move, probably spent all its energy in shivering to stave off the cold, and he easily scoops the kitten up, tucking in under his armpit.

Simon looks up and sees you through the grate, eyes locked on him and hands wrung together. He gives you a thumbs up, and sees you burst into a bigger version of the smile you'd given him when he'd agreed to help, and Simon thinks yeah, wouldn't mind losing a toe or two in return for that, before making his way back up to you.

He passes you the shivering ball of fur through a gap in the boxes you'd managed to create and sees you immediately cradle it under your arm, before he makes his way back over the railing.

You stand in front of him and beam again, an arm reaching out to grab his. Simon clenches his muscles, gritting his teeth to avoid jumping in response to your touch, even as he registers your voice thanking him.

And then you immediately jump into action.

You obtain the blanket that has been thrown over your couch, and swaddle the kitten in it securely. Simon awkwardly follows you as you make your way to the unplugged space heater sitting in the corner beside your couch, just behind a small table with pictures and baking magazines on it.

You look at the heater, and then at him, and he knows what you're about to say. He doesn't let you expend the effort, leaning over the table and picking up the space heater before turning back to you.

You give him one of those smiles again, a grin this time - for fuck's sake, how many toes was that? - and point to the other end of your couch, to an unoccupied socket. 'You, um, you can just put it there, please.'

Simon bites back a smile of his own and obeys your request, bending down to plug the device in before switching the heater on and cranking it high. You breathe a sigh of relief before making your way to him, and crouch beside him. You turn to him and Simon is suddenly aware of how close your faces were. He straightens up, watching you look down at the kitten - not shivering any more - and look back up again at him. 'Thank you, Simon. Rescuing this little guy would've been a task without you.'

Simon, against his best wishes, pockets the way his name sounds in your voice to relish later. He offers you another nod. 'Glad I could be of service.' He looks at the furball you're cradling, thumb running over its head in gentle pats. 'Already know he's a guy?'

You shake your head. 'Nah, we just met - would be a tad inappropriate, no?' You look at the kitten and then back at him, patting the ground next to you. 'You want to hold him?'

Simon's drawn to your twinkling eyes, inviting him to share this little moment with you. He accepts your summons, crowding himself into the spot beside you. A zing of electricity shoots through his leg when your knee touches his - come on, SImon, what are you, thirteen - and he looks at you. You're holding the swaddled kitten to him, and he gingerly accepts it, cradling it the way you had been, making sure to be close enough to the heater but not too close.

You nod at him, 'You should name him.'

He starts at that, shaking his head at you, 'Nah, am rubbish at this shit, you do it.'

You shake your head right back in return, 'Nope, you rescued it - it's only right you get to name it.'

Simon sighs, looking down at the thing asleep in the blanket. 'Fine.'

A moment passes before he looks at you again, and he finds you sitting there with wide, expecting eyes.

'Fuckin' hell, give a bloke some time to think.'

Your laughter chimes in his ears. 'Alright, alright. Wouldn't want you naming him shitstain or something.'

He takes offence at that. 'And why is that a name you think I'd go for?'

You shrug, and your sweater slips slightly off your shoulder. It takes him all his training to keep his gaze firmly on your eyes. 'Every other word out of your mouth is a curse. It's not an unfair assumption to make, Simon Riley.'

It's the first time he's heard his name, his full name, from someone not barking orders. Simon relinquishes.

You nod, satisfied. 'Would you want to stick around for a cup of cocoa? Though it'll probably be after this one's been fed - I have some chicken I could make into a paste. I'll get the good stuff tomorrow.'

Simon hesitates, almost falling into the pattern of saying a polite no, thanks, should head to bed, almost takes the easy way out. That's what's comfortable - shrinking back, blending in, being invisible. But you're looking at him, raised eyebrows and tilted head, and he feels braver. 'Yeah, sounds nice,' he croaks out, and you get up and brush off your clothes.

He averts his eyes when you turn around, not wanting to inadvertently stare at your ass, when he feels a soft thump next to him.

The knitted blanket you'd thrown to him was decorated with little black cats wearing witch hats. He looks up at you, and you gesture to the T-shirt he had on, 'In case you needed some warming up yourself'.

Simon was okay with the late November chill, having braved far worse, but the blanket (accompanied by your smile) promised warmth he'd forgotten could exist. He gratefully accepts your gift, but struggles in having only one free hand to drape the blanket over himself.

'Oh- here-'

You tug the blanket over his shoulders, and nod in response to his gruff thanks, 'ppreciate it, before heading to the kitchen.

SImon's left to his own, and he starts whistling a low tune, thumb brushing over the kitten's tiny head as it snores away in his lap, a strange warmth blooming in his chest. His gaze falls on the pattern adorning the blanket around his shoulders, and suddenly, the perfect name pops into his head.

Hex.

Simon nods, as if affirming the decision. He hears you bustling in the kitchen as the air fills with the warm scent of hot cocoa. Simon idly wonders if you'd add marshmallows to the drinks.

He holds the kitten up to eye level, even though it simply stretches and falls back asleep.

'Be good to her, eh, Hex?'