Rivel

It had started raining that evening—light, cold, and nasty. You were about to close the window when your phone vibrated briefly.

Rivel wrote: "I'll be right back. Open it right away, my hands are full." It sounded strange even to him.

About fifteen minutes later, there was indeed a knock on the door—not the usual lazy, proprietary knock, but quickly, as if he were in a hurry. When you opened the door, Rivel was standing there, completely soaked, wearing a black T-shirt and an open, dripping dark jacket.

"Just don't start lecturing me, okay?" he said wearily instead of greeting.

He carefully lifted the edge of his jacket, and a small, light-colored face with huge blue eyes appeared. A kitten. A tiny one.

"I was driving to your place and heard a squeak near the road." Rivel went inside, as if already knowing you wouldn't kick him or this miracle out anyway. "There's a storm drain nearby... another ten minutes and that's it."

The kitten trembled in his palms, its tiny paws clinging to his fingers. Rivel looked like he was trying to pretend he didn't care, but he held it too carefully for someone who "didn't care. "

"And no, I'm not keeping it for myself," he muttered, taking off his wet jacket. "Even my flowers are dying."

You just chuckled, watching as the kitten immediately moved closer to his chest, hiding under the chain around his neck. Rivel exhaled heavily and sat down in the kitchen, running a hand through his wet hair.

"He was yelling the whole way, by the way. And then he went silent when I picked him up." A pause. "He probably realized I was normal."

• You scare half the neighborhood with just one look.

— But cats love me.

The room grew quiet. The rain was falling outside, the kettle was just beginning to boil, and Rivel was sitting at your desk with a sleepy kitten in his arms, looking for the first time in a long time not prickly and cold, but simply... a tired man who couldn't ignore someone else's misfortune.