Can you write anything with davey? I love how you characterize him!
Y/N: you just agreed. no backing out now
Y/N: meet me behind the school
“Davey is my best friend,” you cooed into your arms. “If you like me, you’ll like him by proxy. Probably. Hopefully.”
To say that liking you was the same as liking Davey was a stretch, but Davey was winsome. He would be fine as long as he didn’t do anything stupid.
“And there he is,” you said, grinning at him while he approached. His eyes were already on what you were holding. “The life of the party. The VIP. The man of the—”
“That’s a cat,” Davey said, voice going up at the end as though it was a question.
“It looks dead,” he said, nothing questioning about it.
It did look it, though. The kitten was small, patchy, and buzzing with flies. If it hadn’t been walking when you found it, you probably would have assumed the same thing. It had settled into your arms without too much of a fuss, which was probably a universal sign that this was supposed to be the Salem to your Sabrina Spellman.
Davey looked at you, then at the box. “You can’t seriously want to keep that thing.”
You balked. “Somebody has to take care of it. Why not me?”
“Because your parents don’t want ‘anymore living things’ in their house,” he pointed out. “Because you have nowhere to hide a cat, especially if it needs special care.”
“You already agreed to help,” you said with a grin. “No take-backs.”
He groaned. “My parents will kill me.”
“Suitable. A life for a life.” You held the cat out to him, hoping that maybe there was a scrap of empathy in him somewhere. “C’mon, Davey. The cat needs help. I’ll do all the work; I just need a place for him to stay.”
“You can’t do all the work,” Davey said, “when it’s at my house.”
“I’ll come over all the time,” you said eagerly. “So much you’ll get tired of me.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he said, a strange look on his face. Maybe it was suspicion. Maybe he was just thinking it through, imagining how he’d have to change his schedule to fit this in. “I could never get tired of you.”
“I don’t even like cats,” he said, defeated. He held out the box so you could settle the kitten in.
“You don’t have to like cats—just the one,” you said, scooping up the box and setting off toward Davey’s apartment.
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