Page 7

A week after the punch, Dennis is leaving the site late, going over construction photos on his phone. Everyone else cleared out hours ago—everyone except whichever entitled jackass left their Lexus parked directly in front of the delivery entrance.

Idiot!

There's literally a massive sign that reads "KEEP CLEAR—MATERIAL DELIVERIES 6AM-10AM" and multiple orange cones that someone had to physically move to park there.

The first concrete pour is scheduled for six-thirty in the morning, and if that truck can’t get through…

"Mrrrrow!"

Dennis stops mid-stride and mid-thought. He turns around in the empty street, looking left and right for the source of the sound.

"Mrrrrrrow!"

There. It seems to be coming from under the silver Lexus owned by whoever the dickwad is.

Dennis takes a step closer, bending down at the waist. That’s when he sees two tiny paws batting at empty air.

A kitten? He jogs over, alarmed. He hopes the little guy is okay!

"Hey there," Dennis crouches down when he reaches the car. "You okay, little one?"

"Mrrrrrrrrow!!"

"Hang on, I'll just—"

A hand grabs his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

Dennis jolts up, nearly braining himself on the car's side mirror. He twists around as best he can in his crouched position, the gravel beneath his soles crunching loud enough to echo.

Ugh, it’s just stupid Chris. What is he, the carpark police?

Dennis’s eyebrows knit automatically—like they always do when Chris is around. "What does it look like I'm doing?" He tries shrugging off Chris's grip, but those fingers might as well be made of iron. Dennis glowers up at him, neck cramping from the angle.

Chris finally lets go and steps back, crossing his arms, but his presence still takes up too much space. "Looks like you're casing my car, is what it looks like you’re doing."

“Your car?” Dennis snorts as he stands, straightening his crisp white dress shirt with deliberate care. He brushes off his shoulder—extra swipes for the spot Chris contaminated with his touch.

Still, the revelation draws his eyes back to the pristine silver paint job. “Since when can you afford a Lexus?” he asks, his tone slow and dripping with skepticism. Dennis tilts his head as he turns his gaze back to Chris and fixes him with a raised eyebrow.

Chris’s expression hardens at the question. His biceps flex under his shirt in a way Dennis definitely doesn't notice. "Since none of your business," he replies, clearly irritated.

Oh? Now both Dennis’s eyebrows raise themselves. He knew something was up with this Chris jerk. Maybe he’s a drug dealer in his spare time. Or has a sugar mommy. Or both.

Before he can think about finding out and exposing Chris like he deserves, Chris says, "Why are you here? The site’s been closed for hours."

"I heard—"

Another pitiful meow cuts Dennis off.

"That! I heard that!" he exclaims, pointing under the car as he glares up at Chris, vindicated and indignant.

The change in Chris's face is instant—like someone flipped a switch from asshole to actual human. "What?” he says, uncrossing his arms. He actually looks concerned now. “Where?"

"Under your fancy car that you definitely didn't buy with construction wages," Dennis points out helpfully.

"Shut up and help me look."

They both drop to their knees, twisting around to peer under the car. Gravel bites into their palms as they crane their necks, faces tilted up to scan the shadows.

A tiny black kitten stares back at them, caught in the front grille, big shiny eyes extra sad in a please save me kind of way.

"Shit," Chris breathes. "How'd you get in there, buddy?"

"Can you reach it?"

"No." Chris stands up. "Stand back."

"What are you doing?"

"Getting better access." Chris jangles his keys, the sound sharp in the empty lot. "Need to pop the hood." He moves to unlock the car. "Unless you want to break a nail trying to get your fingers in there, princess?"

Dennis grits his teeth. Fails to stop his face from rearranging itself into an instinctive scowl. His scowls are so perfectly scowly looking these days from all the practice he’s been getting. "Just hurry the hell up!"

Chris unlocks the car, then opens the hood with a solid thunk . Together they look down at the engine, warmth from the scorching spring afternoon still radiating from the metal.

The kitten blinks up at them.

"Poor thing's terrified," Chris says, his voice low so as not to spook it. He reaches down, movements extra slow and cautious. They both hold their breath, hoping the kitten won’t startle and try to squeeze in deeper and away from them. "Come here sweetheart,” Chris coaxes, “I've got you."

Dennis watches in disbelief as Chris makes little cooing noises. His hands—rough and calloused—move with a gentleness he didn’t think was possible on such a… brute .

"There we go," Chris murmurs, when the kitten creeps closer, whiskers twitching—to trust, or not to trust? When it decides that Chris is a friendly giant that won’t hurt it, it presses its nose to his finger and lets itself get gathered up, tiny legs splaying in every direction like a bundle of loose threads. "That's it. You're okay."

"You're good with cats," Dennis says without thinking.

"Good with all sorts of pussy."

And just like that, the moment's ruined.

"You're unbelievable," Dennis spits out in disgust. He turns to leave, boots crunching on the loose gravel. "Just make sure it gets to a shelter," he says, as un-angrily as he can. He doesn’t want to scare the baby cat just because Chris is a fucktard.

"Wait!"

Dennis doesn’t wait and keeps walking.

"I um," Chris says, louder now. He clears his throat. "I don't actually know where any shelters are," he hollers, loud enough that a questioning meow pipes up from the volume.

"Seriously?" Dennis spins around, face stormy. He kind of wants to run back to the kitten to save it from Chris, but at the same time, he really doesn’t want to offer Chris any assistance whatsoever , in any way, shape, or form.

"Look, I don't usually rescue kittens, okay?” Chris says, sighing. He rubs the back of his neck, looking away, before his eyes meet with Dennis’s. “This is a first for me."

He shrugs with the kitten in one hand. It squirms in his gentle grip, tiny paws kneading air.

Dennis hesitates. The shelter's been his sanctuary for months now—ever since he moved to Sacramento and discovered his fancy apartment's strict no-pets policy. Every Saturday, he'd go there to decompress, to forget about his father's expectations and the weight of the Kim name. Just him and the cats, no judgment, no pressure.

He doesn't want to share that place with Chris. He really doesn’t want Chris invading this one, itsy bitsy slice of peace and happiness he'd carved out for himself.

Dennis should walk away. Should let Chris deal with his own problems.

The kitten meows again, its tiny cry echoing in the empty lot, its eyes wide with hope—or hunger. Oh no! The poor thing sounds so small and desperate.

Ugh. He can’t leave it here with that stupid, dumb oaf. Sure, Chris might look strangely handsomer than normal with the kitten in his hands, but who knows what Chris might do to it? No one’s safe from his harassment. Dennis would know.

He tries not to feel like he’s being unfair. Internally, he might be forced to admit—grudgingly—that he may have already seen that Chris can be not-a-dick when he feels like it. But still. It’s the principle of the matter.

"Fine." Dennis pulls out his phone, when the kitten meows again, this time more pitifully than ever. "I know a place. But you're driving."

Chris smiles, eyes narrowed and lips pleasantly curved—so annoyingly bright it makes Dennis want to hiss and shield himself from it to not burst into a pile of pissed-off ashes. He opens up maps and taps on his phone as fast as he can.

Twenty minutes later they're pulling up outside Happy Paws Animal Shelter. The kitten's curled up in Dennis’s lap, purring like a tiny motor.

"Traitor," Chris mutters from behind the wheel. "Sure, cuddle up to the princess. See if I care."

"She has good taste." Dennis scritches under her chin. Rolls his tongue to purr along with her as she tries to snuggle deeper into the part of his thighs. "Unlike some people who send dick pics to their colleagues."

"Wha— you're still mad about that?"

Dennis sneaks a glance out of the corner of his eye when he hears the lilt in Chris’s voice. When he spots Chris’s raised eyebrows, eyes still on the street, he almost snorts. How is this man actually surprised? He probably has a whole collection of dick pics he sends out on the regular. The motherfucker must have desensitized himself to workplace harassment long ago.

Dick sensitized himself.

"I punched you in the face,” Dennis reminds dryly.

"Yeah, but like," Chris shrugs, lips downturned as if it’s no big deal, "in a sexy way."

Dennis’s head snaps up. " What? "

"What?" Chris throws the car into park, kills the engine, and swings the door open in one fluid motion. One foot hits the asphalt as his eyes sweep over the shelter building. "We're here," he singsongs. "Let's get this done."

He’s out of the car before Dennis can even think of responding.

Which is good because Dennis has no idea how to respond to Chris thinking his punch was sexy.

None at all.

"Dennis!" A cheerful voice calls as they enter.

Sasha, one of the regular volunteers, rushes over when she spots him.

"We missed you last Saturday!” she says as she approaches. “The cats were so disappointed—especially Mr. Whiskers.”

Her hand lands on Dennis’s arm and lingers there. “He waited by the playroom door for hours." She bumps her hip against his, grinning up at him. “I might have missed you too.”

Dennis feels his cheeks heat up as Chris's eyebrows rise.

"Been busy," he mumbles. "But I brought you a new friend." Dennis transfers the kitten over with careful hands. It meows indignantly, quite comfortable with Dennis’s warmth and in no hurry to leave him.

"Oh my goodness!" She coos over the kitten, holding it right up to her face. “Who’s this little guy? Where’d you get him from?” She turns it around to peek under its tail. “Her!”

Ah, another friendly giant. The kitten pushes its forehead against Sasha’s nose, Chris and Dennis forgotten.

"Another rescue?” says Lila, another volunteer, jogging up to pet it. “You're our guardian angel, Dennis, I swear,” she gushes as she catches his eye, holding the gaze for a beat too long. “When are you going to let us convince you to adopt?" She grins and adds, "I know this great cat who comes as a package deal with dinner Friday night."

Dennis clears his throat, ears bright red, pointedly ignoring how Chris’s snort turns into a hasty cough. "You know my building doesn't allow—"

"Move," they both interrupt firmly, their heads nodding in unison. The sudden seriousness cuts through the air like a whip, all attention now focused on the kitten. The banter is gone—nothing matters more than the cats.

"These babies need you,” scolds Sasha.

“You should see how they light up when he visits," Lila says to Chris who oh s, terribly friendly and extra interested at the information on offer.

Dennis fantasizes about wiping off that stupid smirk playing at his lips with his fist when Chris glances over like he’s learnt one of Dennis’s secrets. But he better be good. He’s done enough damage as it is.

Instead, he excuses himself to pay a visit to Mr. Whiskers and the other cats. The last thing he needs is Chris having more ammunition to jab him at work with.

Dennis heads to the cat room, aware of Chris trailing behind him like a curious shadow. He's barely through the door when Jess from the medical team "happens" to need something from that exact shelf, and Marcus from adoptions suddenly remembers he has to check on that one specific cat in this specific room right now .

It's the usual song and dance—though today there seems to be twice as many volunteers finding excuses to pop in, stealing glances at both him and Chris.

"Oh Dennis, could you help me reach that toy?" Lila asks, pointing to something definitely within her reach. "You're so tall..."

"I can get it," Chris offers with a dimpled grin, reaching past both of them in a move that shows off his arms.

Lila’s eyes widen appreciatively.

Marcus leans against the doorway. "You guys should come to our fundraiser next week. It’s a car wash." He winks at Dennis. "We always need big, strong volunteers." He turns to Chris, eyes bright with interest as he looks him up and down. "And who’s your friend? Don’t think we’ve had the pleasure."

Chris practically glows at the attention, stepping closer to shake Marcus's hand, his whole demeanor shifting into something warm and inviting that Dennis has never seen at work. At least not with him.

Dennis watches as Chris laughs easily with Marcus, who’s now pouring a kitten into his arms, while Sasha rests a hand on Chris’s shoulder, laughing at something he says.

He seems so at ease, like he fits here. Like he’s a genuinely nice guy.

A small pang of regret twists in Dennis’s chest.

Maybe they got off on the wrong foot? Had he ever done something to offend Chris?

The thought nags at him, but he steels himself. If Chris had a problem, surely he’d say something. He’s not a child, after all.

Dennis turns his attention back to the cats that have gathered at his feet, meowing insistently, clearly wondering if he brought treats. He crouches down, letting their little noses and paws tug him back into the present, where the air smells like kibble and fur and everything makes sense.

One extra long visit and a small mountain of charity cat treats bought and fairly distributed later, they’re filling out paperwork, side by side.

Well, Dennis is filling out the paperwork. Chris is standing way too close next to him, so that their arms and legs touch.

"Every Saturday, huh?" Chris grins, stepping closer so they’re touching again when Dennis surreptitiously inches away from him.

"Shut up," he snips, his handwriting turning into a scrawl as he tries to finish up so he can get the hell away from Chris.

"No, it's... nice." Chris's voice loses its teasing edge. "Didn't think you had it in you, princess." Chris nudges Dennis in the arm with his elbow.

"There's a lot you don't know about me," Dennis mutters, his voice flat, eyes glued to the form. He shifts sideways again, dragging the clipboard with him like a shield, the movement just exaggerated enough to make a point.

"Yeah." Chris takes another step to close the gap, sticking them back together. He laughs softly when Dennis sighs—loud, obvious, and thoroughly long suffering. "I think I’m starting to get that," Chris says with a chuckle.

"Come back soon!" the girls and Marcus call out in unison, waving as Chris and Dennis leave. "The weekend kittens miss their favorite volunteer! And we could always use another one!"

When they get back to the Lexus, neither of them moves to get in. The shadows stretch long across the pavement, the golden light softening as the warmth of the day slowly fades.

"So." Chris rocks on his heels, hands shoved in his pockets.

"So."

"Thanks," Chris says, tilting his head toward the shelter—just in case Dennis has forgotten where they’ve just been. "For, uh, knowing about this place."

Dennis doesn’t answer. He’s quite happy letting the awkward silence follow so Chris has to fill in the space.

“That was, ah, yeah… kind of cool and chill of you,” Chris says, right on cue, complete with mini shrug in a whatever kind of way.

“Mmm,” Dennis grunts, not in a hurry to make any polite small talk. He better get home to all the nothing that awaits him. Sigh. Maybe a cat would be a great idea, he thinks wistfully. They could be lonely together.

Then Chris smiles. It’s big. It’s bright. It’s so disgustingly genuine that it makes Dennis balk, taking a step back to keep Chris and whatever power play he’s cooking up at a good, safe distance.

"Thanks for saving her," Dennis offers, his voice neutral. He can’t stand the guy but politeness to the enemy is the mark of a gentleman, and Dennis is nothing if not a gentleman.

"Need a ride?" Chris holds up his keys. Dangles them, eyebrows waggling like he’s offering a once-in-a-lifetime deal.

Dennis rolls his eyes in disgust—though, despite himself, he fights the tug of a traitorous smile creeping up at the corners of his mouth. He shakes it off mentally and replaces it with a scowl. "I’ll grab an Uber," he clips, back to full professionalism. He pulls out his phone and starts tapping.

"Well." Chris shrugs again. He presses a button on the key, and the car unlocks with a soft beep and a flash of light. "See you tomorrow, princess."

"Yeah." Dennis turns and starts walking away to get to his pick-up spot.

Welp. All in all, not a terrible end to another long day. The little black kitten didn’t get fried by Chris’s engine, and Mr. Whiskers and Co. were a riot, as always. The girls at the shelter were flirty, which is always fun. Chris didn’t seem to mind either—not the cats or the girls.

He was really sweet to everyone. He wasn’t even his usual insufferable, crappy, shitty, turdy self to Dennis.

Dennis smiles to himself, now that he’s alone on the street, with Chris behind him and an empty road ahead. Good with all sorts of pussy, huh? Snort. The guy is a boorish, classless, uncouth idiot of the highest order.

But, you know... he might be the biggest fucking jerk in the world, but maybe one redeeming quality is better than none.

Dennis spins around. "Hey Chris?" he calls out.

Chris looks up, startled, like he’s been yanked out of his thoughts. He’s just standing there, keys in hand, not even getting into his car.

"Yeah?"

"Nice car."

He walks away before Chris can respond. But he swears he hears laughter following him down the street.

Warm laughter.

The kind that makes him think about gentle hands saving kittens. About the way Chris's voice went soft when he talked to the tiny creature. About the sides of people you never expect to see.

Heh. Chris is a weird one.