The waiting Game
(854 words)
(854 words)
It wasn't that the feelings were entirely new. Not really anyhow; he was only human after all, and it'd have been mildly worrying if this had, indeed, been the first time his mind had been preoccupied by such thoughts and feelings. The notion didn't make the whole ordeal any less... frustrating however. While it was true he was a patient person by nature and usually didn't mind waiting for things to come to him or happen, well, the fact he hadn't planned ahead and was more or less winging it was really throwing Rohan for a hoop.
He hadn't really planned on telling her how he felt. It'd just happened. Due to the fact he hadn't, in fact, planned on telling her anything, it meant that he was now pretty much forced to wing it. He had no plan of action, and no past experience to draw comfort from; he was stuck with a set of cards which he'd unknowingly drawn from a deck, and no clear understanding of how to use them. Hell, even that would've been been fine, were it not for the fact he was pretty much stuck playing a waiting game.
Letting out a mild sigh, Rohan opened the door to his apartment, peering into the darkness and silence that welcomed him back. Technically it wasn't exactly silent, what with how the building was nearby a main road; even after he closed the door behind him, he could hear the come and go of the busy traffic. It never really stopped, even in the wee hours of the morning. He knew this well enough, mostly because he'd slipped back home rather late, almost near sunrise on some occasions when his hunting trips didn't quite go as he'd expected them to.
As he entered, he switched on the lights and finally pulled down the tie that he'd felt to be so constraining during the duration of the wedding. Then again, that feeling had more been due to Khalla's closeness than anything else. Still, it felt good to finally be able to pull it off and shrug out of the damned jacket. His gaze drifted across the living room and towards the balcony, and there, washed by the light that flooded from withing sat a white, scruffy looking cat.
One of it's ears seemed to be almost entirely ripped off, scars marring it's skin and pelt here and there. It was looking up at Rohan through it's only healthy, golden eye; the other one was firmly shut.
"Come on," came the man's frustrated murmur, "I didn't even make food today. I ate out. I have nothing for you," the cat stared up at him insistently from the other wise of the glass. After a moment where both cat and man stared at eachother in silence, Rohan let out a sigh, reached out to open the balcony and allowed the animal inside, "You'll have to do with some of yesterday's scraps though. I really do have nothing," he'd been feeding the stray for weeks now, and it'd taken a liking to him. Or to the food, he guessed. Either way, the animal dropped in rather often, looking for food, and Rohan didn't really see a reason to deny it to him. The cat offered him company, and he offered it food; he figured it was a fair trade.
Entering the small kitchen, he grabbed a tin foil he'd left out on the counter and knelt down, offering it's content to the feline, whom moved forward rather swiftly to take it, "You know, I wish I was more like you. You have it easy," as it ate, the feline lifted his head and gave the man a rather dirty look, as if to imply that Rohan had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, "You want something, and you simply take it. I wish it was that easy," lifting his hand, he placed it on top of the cat's head and gave the feline a small scratch, then he stood up and walked back into the living room, allowing himself to practically collapse back into the worn sofa, his gaze up on the ceiling as he pondered the evening over.
Would things have been easier if he'd just... somehow managed to keep himself under control? Would her not knowing have really been the better choice?
He should have, for all effect, gone to bed, but instead, he sat there, looking up at the ceiling as if it had the answers to the multiple questions buzzing through his skull. It was the raspy 'meow' that signaled his unusual 'flat mate's return that finally perked him up, and he lowered his gaze in time to see the creature jump up on the sofa and then move to his lap, "You really have no right to be there, you know," the cat looked up at him, opened his mouth, yawned, and curled up in place, causing the human to let out another sigh, "You're obnoxious," he told the animal, resignation apparent in his voice as his gaze moved to stare back up at the ceiling.
Unfortunately, only time would give him the answers he sought.
