You, your cat and our best love story [MewGulf AU]

2.3 Your cat

"P'Mew… You're fed up with me, aren't You?"

I've failed two important business contracts this week, I'm probably exhausted by the weekend, and so, instead of the usual endless questions that I ask you as we walk in the park, I've been silent for almost an hour, immersed in calculating my financial losses. Dandelion is spinning under our feet: today you are walking him with a harness.

The mood, of course, is at zero level. And now you pose this silly question. I take a deep breath.

"Gulf. I've had a hard working week. Don't take it personally, please."

You nod, but then a new entry appears:

"You'd better have a rest then. Go home. And we'll do the same. There is no need to see me off, there is a couple of steps to my apartment."

"Gulf, what are you talking about? I've been waiting all week to be with you. Are you pushing me away from you?"

"P'Mew... let's go to my place, then. I'll make You some soothing tea. And You can stay with me, if You really want, and have a rest."

That's the news... so every time we meet, I try to summon up the courage to invite you to my place — "for tea" - and you, baby, without any hesitation, invite me to your place.

"Gulf, aren't you afraid to invite me?"

"Why should I be afraid? You're not going to rape me, are You?"

I don't even know whether to cry or laugh. You're so naive and sincere... Gulf, my sweet little one, what are you doing to my heart?

"No, of course." I laugh, and you react to my laughter with a silent smile.

You take the cat in your arms, and then we're on our way to your modest apartment. Oh, it's been a long time since I've been to a place like this. Ever since I was a student, when I convinced my parents to let me move off campus and live along with my first boyfriend … A lot of water has flowed since then. Dirty and unpleasant.

Two small rooms, one of which is combined with a kitchen. Barely taking off your shoes, you nod "come in" and drag Dandelion into the bathroom to wash his paws. Then you go to put the kettle on, take out some jars, bags from the cupboard, pour something, mix it, figuratively, do some magic over my future tea. But when it's ready, you place a beautiful porcelain cup and saucer in front of me, on which you put some cookies and a cheese bun.

"You don't like sweets, I remember."

You sit across from me with the same tea set as mine.

We have tea in mutual silence. I look around at the tidiness in the kitchen — you wouldn't even think that a guy lives here who's always busy with uni, work or his cat.

"Gulf, haven't you spoken since you were born?"

Again that wild look and a hunched head.

Well, who pulled my tongue over?

"I'm sorry… I'm a tired idiot, I don't know what I'm talking about."

"I beg You apologize, P'Mew, for being so troublesome. If I could talk, it would be easier."

I'm about to get my blood up on the way to my heart.

Somehow gathering my nerves into a tight knot, I get up from the table and, excusing myself, retire to the bathroom.

At first, I pour water, drowning out the crazy flow of thoughts, then abruptly turn it off: I forgot that I'm not at home, where you can not think about the bills for householding. I can imagine what a bill you will receive at the end of the month for this waterfall of mine… I've got to slip some money into your pocket, baby. And my head keeps pounding and pounding: this is real, Mew. It's not just emotions, the excitement of seducing an innocent boy — it's all for real. You're head over heels in love with this meek, restless sparrow… And if everything turns out differently? If you meet someone, baby, and forget your poor old Mew… How can I survive without you now?

I wipe the mirror with my palm. Actually, I take care of myself: the gym, spa, beauticians... But the network of wrinkles in the outer corners of the eyes is getting harder and harder to hide, and a week of almost no sleep at forty-three is not the same as at twenty-three… But next to you, with your blooming youth, I certainly lose.

Why do I have to bear all of this!

I immediately get angry at myself: the boy copes with such problems and does not whine, and does not curse fate, and even finds kind words for every stranger, and you, Mew... Eh.

An alarming knock on the door. I open it. You stand outside the door with a note in your trembling fingers.

"P'Mew, You are very tired, this tea has a little sleepy effect. I've changed bed supplies. Take a nap for an hour or two, while I sit and study."

This piece of paper in my hand shakes like in the wind. You get scared of this reaction, silly baby, and you back up against the wall. Then you walk into the room, motioning for me to follow you.

What happened to me then I cannot describe. I've had a bunch of lovers, some of whose names I forgot in the morning, others I didn't even ask… those cheap toys... With someone it was a month or two, with someone it became unbearable in a week. But for at least one of them to offer me his bed — just a break from a hard day... no. This is the first time it has happened to me.

As if I were running after you on a loose clutch, I grab you by the shoulders and turn you around to face me, with all my strength, to the point of internal fractures, I squeeze you in my arms.

You don't resist.

But you don't hold out your hands to me in return.

So I stand there with you, and a little later I hear you gasp into my neck.

I let you go. But you don't even think about pulling away. Then I pull myself together and take your beautiful face in my hands. My lips almost touch yours as you flinch and take a step back.

You write very quickly.

"I don't know how to kiss... at all."

Your eyes fall down, lips trembling with excitement and shame for their inexperience. I'm ready to lay the world at your innocent feet, my Gulf.

"And I'll teach you, baby," I pull you back to me, "I'll teach you everything… Just trust me, Gulf."

At first, you blink, but then you nod and open your mouth, which is immediately covered by my lips.

"It's okay, relax, baby," I whisper to you in a kiss, and you, still not knowing what to do, just clumsily try to copy my actions.

How nice you are, Gulf, nice and sweet… I'll never get tired of saying it.

You get used to it a little, your lips become even softer, accept my tongue; your sweaty palms fall on my shoulders, I pull you closer to me, one hand holding your waist, the fingertips of the other caressing your neck just below the hair…

What the hell!

From the kitchen there comes a sound of violent vomiting. And in ten minutes we are driving your miserable Dandelion to the vet clinic.