Namjoon is fork deep in a pot of mac and cheese with The Candle Maker's Daughter in the one hand when the doorbell rings.

The sun is firmly in the center of the sky, throwing down scorching noon heat. Namjoon is safely ensconced in his empty living room, basking in the air conditioning. It didn't occur to him the house had a doorbell, so the sound makes him fumble his book. The page he's on is inevitably lost, but the noodles stay in the pot.

He freezes in place, suddenly self-conscious of his unwashed t-shirt and boxer shorts even though he’s not really planning on answering the door. His ears strain to hear any kind of indicator as to who is on his doorstep wanting to talk or sell him something. It's silent, or at least not loud enough to be heard through the door, down the hall, and across the living room.

Namjoon almost dumps his mac and cheese to the floor when it occurs to him that there could be an old friend outside, pistol tucked away beneath a beefy arm with shoes polished to a mirror-like shine.

Realistically, it could be a person selling vacuum cleaners. Or Girl Scout cookies. Yes, even he eats Girl Scout cookies. He will defend the superiority of Thin Mints to the grave and beyond.

Unfortunately, the way his life usually goes means that the odds of his porch being inhabited by cute little Girl Scouts is less than 5%. So he waits. And waits, and waits until at least fifteen minutes have passed. If someone were here to kill him, they would have already tried. If it was the Girl Scouts, no doubt they've left, frowning in disappointment.

Namjoon scrapes the last of the cooled noodles from the pan, chewing while he figures out where he left off in The Candle Maker’s Daughter. Though he’s trying to drag it out, more than half the pages have gone by, meaning a new book will have to come from somewhere soon. It takes a minute, eyes skipping from paragraph to paragraph, but when he finds the correct page, the handle of the fork serves as an impromptu bookmark. Now he's prepared to face whatever horror is waiting outside for him, if any.

Slowly padding to the front door, Namjoon keeps an ear perked. The tension is rising for no discernible reason and he finds himself taking increasingly rapid breaths. There might even be a little sweat edging his hairline. Grasping at levity, he imagines that this would be the part where the music crescendos into screeching violins and the audience are covering their eyes in anticipatory horror.

He opens the door.

There aren't any Girl Scouts or a vacuum salesman. No men with guns and shiny shoes. Instead, there's a kitten. A tiny gray kitten with two button eyes and a felt pink nose is sitting on his front porch, staring at him.

Perhaps it would be less strange if it was a real kitten, but it's definitely not. Namjoon may not know much about arts and crafts; it's not really a subject that came up during his days at the top of the mob, but he's fairly sure this kitten is crocheted or knitted and it's staring at him.

His first thought is that it might be a bomb. He kind of wishes that he had a stick to poke it with and see if it’ll explode. There isn't a stick handy, so his big toe will have to do.

Poke.

No explosion.

Without the faintest idea of where it came from, Namjoon slowly bends down and scoops up the small animal so it's resting in the palm of his hand.

“The is this?” he murmurs to himself.

A quick glance shows that there's no one in sight. No The Neighbor, no Hoseok, no twin nieces to be seen. Instead, there’s just the bright sun and the flat desert and the hot, hot heat. And the kitten he supposes, him and the kitten-that's-probably-not-a-bomb.

Unable to bring himself to leave the fabric kitten to roast on the porch, Namjoon carries it inside and sets it in the middle of the living room next to The Candle Maker's Daughter.

It doesn't have a name or a tag attached anywhere. It doesn't look like it was bought from a store, but rather, thanks to the slight unevenness of the ears, Namjoon imagines it was made by hand. No tag means no name, and everything should have a name. They’re important. Namjoon had a different name not so long ago, and one of the most difficult things he’s ever done, and is still doing, is thinking of himself as plain old Namjoon. The Night is dead, or maybe he’s gone on permanent vacation. He was lost amongst the dingy carpeting and identical hallways of the airport. He never saw the dust of Sarkosa, or sweated in its unrelenting heat.

So the cat will have a name. He's not quite sure what it is yet because he doesn't really know the cat’s personality. The right name will come to him. It’s only a matter of time.

In the midst of his happy contemplation, Namjoon has forgotten to consider who left the kitten on the porch in the first place. Who purposely walked up to his house and rang the doorbell, knowing that Namjoon would eventually answer? Who knows that he's here? And who thinks that he is worthy of receiving a gift, especially something handmade?

---

The kitten is watching him. It sits on the windowsill of his living room to better survey its domain. It isn't much to be honest, but it makes Namjoon feel better somehow, like maybe he's not that alone even though the cat can't talk or listen when he needs someone. Does he need someone? Those shiny black buttons are another set of eyes, another something that’ll fool him into thinking that it’s alive, but it isn’t. There’s nothing there.

Namjoon has been growing a bit morose lately, he must admit.

Despite frequent walks, he hasn't seen hide nor hair of Hoseok and his twin nieces at the park or around the neighborhood. He hasn't quite figured out where they live yet, and honestly he's not really sure if he wants to know. Maybe they're safer without him knowing too much about them. Maybe he's safer too.

There was a day where he went on a walk wearing his kitten shirt again. He took the little gray kitten with him. It stayed in the pocket of his khaki shorts, shielded by a hand so it wouldn't get too squished while he walked. And maybe when he was swinging, he put the kitten on his lap and held it with one hand while the other grasped the chain in an effort not to take an undignified tumble.

That’s not too weird, right?

Right.

----

The same day next week, Tuesday, Namjoon’s eating ramen instead of mac and cheese on the living room floor. The kitten remains on the windowsill. He isn’t expecting anything but a quiet night in. Of course, every night is a quiet night in. The distinct lack of anything to do, along with the abrupt absence of human interaction is still something he’s getting used to. The first week of solitude was an antsy hell of lying in the middle of the floor and talking to himself aloud like a nut job. He’s settled a bit since then, gotten used to lounging with the book and wandering across the backyard extremely quietly to avoid drawing attention from any neighbors.

When the doorbell rings just as it had last week, it startles him, but he manages to hold onto his fork and book this time. Namjoon stares accusatorily at the kitten for a second. He took the damn thing in out of the goodness of his shriveled little Grinch heart and now look what it’s gotten him: visitors two weeks in a row.

The urge to get up and see who rang the doorbell is stronger than ever. What’s really stopping him? Would it really be so bad? What’s the worst that could happen? Either he meets someone, a stranger or a neighbor or maybe even a murderer. Said murderer would finish him off and that would be that. It's not like he wants to die, but it might be worth it see who on his old crew is stalking him via crocheted animals.

Not Yoongi, that’s for damn sure.

This time he only waits seven minutes before stepping to the front door and easing it open. Even Namjoon can’t decipher if he’s disappointed or relieved when there’s no one to be found. No Hoseok, no The Neighbor, no little girls giggling behind their hands and ineffectually hiding behind a cactus.

The only strange thing is a powder blue animal sitting in the center of his porch.

This little fellow is an owl with two shiny yellow beads as a beak and glittering, button eyes.

With care, Namjoon brings the owl into the house, closing and locking the door behind him. The owl is promptly arranged by the kitten so they can overlook the living room together. Namjoon stands back to inspect the pair, wondering who the hell is leaving these strange little gifts. That's what they have to be, he thinks. They aren’t threatening, and they aren’t dangerous.  They’re strange, and adorable, and maybe a little bit magical.

Over the subsequent weeks, Namjoon’s tiny crocheted menagerie grows. Every Tuesday, always during the noon hour, the doorbell rings. Eventually he brings a fork to use as a bookmark and waits to make his noodles because The Candle Maker’s Daughter has suffered from his repeated use of fork bookmarks.

Mr. Kitten and Mr. Owl are now joined by Mrs. Shark, Mr. Lemur (that was a tricky one to figure out), Miss Alligator, and a fine-looking purple llama. Namjoon didn’t even know that it’s possible to crochet so many animals, let alone so well and so quickly. He still has no idea who’s leaving them for him, but every Tuesday he answers the door a bit quicker.

It’s on the ninth Tuesday (seventh was a whale, eighth an octopus), that Namjoon opens the door a mere 15 seconds after the doorbell rings. He’s been actively avoiding thoughts of what will happen if he finally meets the person leaving the gifts. If he thinks about it too much, he’ll definitely screw it up. Namjoon usually does well under pressure and is used to throwing himself under the bus, so to say, to see what happens.

Avoiding the peep hole so he can’t stop himself, Namjoon yanks the door open and trains his eyes on the porch. It can be said with 95% certainty that there’s a crocheted hedgehog about two feet from the door. It could also be an angry pine cone with eyes.

The hedgehog is quickly in hand, and as Namjoon straightens he sees a man’s retreating back. Light hair and a distinctive limp mark him as The Neighbor. This is the same neighbor who peeked through the curtains and waved at the mailbox more than a month ago. They haven’t seen each other since, but apparently The Neighbor’s been thinking about him.

Namjoon quickly retreats inside, peeking his head out only enough to watch The Neighbor’s jerky progress up the front walk and into the adjacent house. Something inside him is tingling. Either he’s emotionally touched or hungry. After The Neighbor closes his front door, Namjoon does the same. The hedgehog is placed next to the llama; they’re both mammals so they’ll probably get along better. The sea creatures are on one side of the windowsill, while the warm blooded beasties inhabit the other.

Today’s lunch, two peanut butter sandwiches and a cluster of grapes, is quick and satisfying, but the tingling sensation remains.

Dammit.

He’s emotionally touched.