They say when the sun sets, sunflowers face each other. But what if there was no other sunflower to turn to? What if each sunflower had been plucked out, leaving one to its misery, lone and terrified, with no kind of its own, a cruel world in its wa...
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It was past sundown, the streets still buzzing at a distance as Harry stood there under the streetlight next to Cakesmith, his phone that he still wasn't quite used to clutched in his hand as he waited for Louis. The alpha had sent him an apologetic text mere seconds after closing the bakery and bidding his coworkers a farewell that he was stuck in a terrible city jam, informing him that he will be at least ten minutes later than expected. Harry had only sent an 'it's alright, drive safely :)', albeit his heart hammered with anxiousness. It was night after all, the moon in the form of an admirable crescent, and it prickled his skin with the worry of what happened past sundown, especially to young, unmated omegas on their own.
Every fall of a leaf had him jumping, clutching onto the T-shirt he had bought recently, eyes going everyone, mind alert. Though he was usually grateful for the bakery to be settled in a quite, secluded area, now he was cursing the gods above. It was quite windy for a late August eve, his curls were wild, going everywhere. He sighed, kicking a lone pebble as it bounced and bounced, until it crashed with what looked like an abandoned cardboard box. Harry stared, bit saddened by the loss of his plaything while he eyed the box curiously. His mother had taught him as a child to never touch things that looked suspicious, and suspicious it was; the top unfolded and sides muddied, it even appeared to have some sort of movement inside of it.
That only intrigued Harry, naturally.
He looked back at the, now closed, bakery before staring ahead at the box on the pavement on the other side of the road, just under a streetlight. Playing deaf to his reasonable side, he marched forward, crossing the road as he found himself under the golden hue of the streetlight, a distant thunderclap turning the sky white just for a blink. Wonderful, it was going to rain the very night Harry was looking forward to stargazing with a bottle of wine. Suppressing a groan, not wanting to give whatever it was that was inside the box any hints of his presence, Harry inhaled a large breath and crouched down, turning on the flashlight of his phone. His hands quivered as they neared the box, eyes alert.
But there it was, a mewl, his hands inches away as two large, blue eyes peered at him from the shadow of the box. It was kitten, abandoned with a body that was clearly in need of nourishing. It had a spotless white body with only his tale completely black, and his eyes reminded Harry of Louis. Harry was in love, cooing as he went to pick up the small, frightened thing with gentle hands. The kitten shrieked and attempted to get away, mewing until it settled to the warmth of Harry's touch, allowing itself to be lifted and then, to be pressed against Harry's chest.
"Hello, you," Harry whispered, caressing the kitten with his fingertip, unable to look away. It wasn't more than a fortnight old, too fluffy to be a week-old, yet too small to be more than twos. His heart sank when the kitten shivered, trying to hide away in Harry's embrace. It was clearly ill, too fragile, and Harry was worried if he was hurting it in anyway.
Soon his phone chimed, screen lighting up as Harry fished it out from the pocket of his jeans, the text being from Louis, informing that he was there. He stood up from the bench, the kitten — whom he decided to call Cow since it felt rude to address it as 'kitten' each time — still in his arms, now sleeping. Louis' car stormed in front of him, the alpha clearly having driving it in lightning speed before it stopped with a screech. Louis rushed out like something was wrong, running towards Harry with the lines of his face displaying fright.
