Falling in Love With Dan Smith

13-Dans POV

I watched everyone holding the kittens and smiling. We don't really handle animals very much. It's nice to see the guys geeking out about something so little.
(Y/N) was holding a little black and white one and she seemed to love the thing. Aw... She's so adorable. And I didn't really find her as a cat person. I don't think she did either, because she didn't really know how to hold it or what to do with it.
My flat is in Leeds. I haven't been there in a while. I hope it didn't burn down.

I have an idea.
—
After a few minutes of us holding the babies, we all put them back in their crate and we walk off.
"Hey, uh, guys...?" I stop.
"Yeah?" They all say, turning to look at me.
"You guys go ahead and go to the shops. I have to go back to my flat and do something real quick. I'll fix a meal or something for when you guys head back."
"Alright... Weird that you don't want to go horrify people in shops, but okaaay..." Woody said, waving his hands. Kyle and Will nodded and turned to go.
"(Y/N), you should go with them. See what it's really like to hang out with the guys. Bastille isn't just me, you know." I wink. She rolls her eyes and trots after the boys, giving me a wave. I wave back and I stand there until they leave the building.
I whip around and I walk back to the lady with the cats.
She's gone...?!
I look around frantically. 'Red coat, black hair. Red coat, black hair. CAT CRATE.' I keep saying in my head, as I'm walking around the airport looking for this woman. Finally I spot her going out a side door and I pick up my pace, almost to a run, and I catch her.
"Hey, I-I'm Sorry, But I um... do you still have them?" I said, panting.
"I still have a few. Would you like to buy one...?" She said, holding up the crate and smiling at me.
"Yes please. The black and white one, please."
She picks him out of the crate and he squeaks. I smile at the creature.
"How much for him?" I say, pulling out my wallet.
She holds he hand out to me, signaling for me to stop.
"She likes him, yes?" She asked.
She remembered.
"Yeah... yeah she did."
She handed me the kitten and she picked up the crate as she stood. She walked away from me.
"Hey, wait! I didn't give you your money." I said, walking after her.
"Love is not bought. It is earned through actions of heart and thought." She said. And with that, she gave me a wink and she disappeared through the doors.
Wow... I thought.
Nice find, Kyle. My eyes widened and I smiled, looking down at the little ball of fur in my hands.
Hmm. Kyle.
—
I decide to take the kitten to my mums while I go shop for stuff he would need.
My mum was more than happy to watch him as I rented a small car and went out to the shops.
—
As I loaded all the things into the passenger seat of the car, I looked at them all to make sure I had everything he would need.
A crate. A small blanket. A cat bed fit for a god (it was the fluffiest one). A scratching post. A box of training pee/poopy pads. A little box for his toys. 4 cat balls with bells in them. A bright blue cat teaser feather thingy. A collar with a bell, and a tag with "Kyle" on it.
A bag of gourmet cat food. Wet cat food. Three kitty dishes; two deep ones for food and water and one flat one for treats/wet food. A litter box. Cat litter. A poop scoop (yuck). And a poopy trash can for his dookies.
That should be everything.
I smile to myself as I get into the front seat.
I can't wait to see her face when she sees him.
—
I walk into my flat, breathing in the scent of books as I did. Mmm. Home. I don't get to come home often. And there's a show tonight.
I walk down the hall, with the crate full of cat doodads, and I kick open my bedroom door. A few shirts here and there, but it's not horrible.
—
I set the crate down and start unloading everything that was inside.
I put the toys in the box. I put the pad down on the bottom of the crate. The. I lay down a second. Just in case, i thought.
I go over and pick up my shirts, tossing them onto the bed. I lay his kitty bed down in the corner of the room opposite the door. I lay the blanket beside it. I set up the litterbox and made the mistake of pouring the litter into it while my face was hovering. I squint my eyes and cough. Wow thats some strong shit.
I go into the kitchen and set out his three dishes, filling them to the brim with water and cat food. I decide to keep the third dish empty until we decide to give him the treats. No kitty wants old treats that have been sitting out all day.
—
I drive over to my mums and I pick up Kyle. I put his collar one him and he immediately starts thrashing, trying to get the bell jingling below his face.
"He's a crazy one, isn't he?" My mum giggled, rubbing his ears.
"Yeah. The little crackhead."
—
The drive home was scary. He kept climbing up the seats and trying to eat my fingers. If I wasn't trying to hold him down he'd either get squished under my feet and I'd crash and burn and die, OR, he'd jump into the back of the bar and I'd swerve and crash and burn and die.
So finally I just tucked in my shirt and dropped him in there.
"There you go you little bastard. Try to get out of there, I dare you."
This, I immediately regretted. His little face soon appeared to bite my chin as his tiny little claws scratched their way up my stomach and chest.
—
I get home and I gently put him in his crate to go poopy. He turned around right away and clawed at the bars. He meowed and squeaked. And then he popped a squat and shit, while walking, leaving a little blackish line of the stinkiest shit I've ever smelled in my life.
I stick my finger through the crate bars and I wiggle it, and he jumps onto my finger, biting and kicking.
"You're a little Jet Li!" I laughed.
"You can beat me up all you want, little guy. But don't kick your mommy's ass. Cus then I'll have to cook you up and eat you." The kitten kept biting. He didn't care. He was probably thinking, bitch not if I eat you first.

I leave his crate open and I leave the bedroom door open so he can explore and find his food dish. I pay his head and he swings at me.
I walk to the front door and pull out my phone.
I'm late for the gig.
—