you blink. oh. not again.

reminded of the time this happened once before, you do not worry for being this way indefinitely. so, you decide in that breath to ride it out with a little bit more grace this time.

with a deep sigh, you make your way to lucian’s side and lick the tip of his nose.

you wish you could capture this somehow— the details of when they open their eyes to the sunlight in your feline vision. each lash so perfectly curated, each freckle in their irises wonderfully placed, the overjoyed expression that paints their features when a kitten wakes them.

“a cat!” lucian squeals, taking you with him again when he sits upright. you giggle in your mind, the purrs let them know you are.

you’ll commend them later with how gently they care for you.

kyros’s warm palm stays on your head, petting as he is talking to you about being part of the family. asking for permission to hug you which you respond to with slow blinks and head butts to his soft belly.

lucian excitedly crawls in circles around you, careful not to hit you, while yapping about how many tricks you’ll be able to do— with live demonstrations of said tricks. you so kindly demonstrate them back to him, and his face of triumph is one you've never seen before.

your heart warms, despite being in this predicament, not once have you yet worried about needing to turn back.

on this rare morning, when your little ones are fawning over you and showing you the fruits of your love for them, you take this curse as a blessing.

but that smell.

it’s not bad, just strong and warm and creeping. the smell of a living body— of milk, blueberries and a simmering smoke beneath. a strange variation of… sylus.

a scent too strong that you must wipe them clean of or else something else will smell them, then your little ones would be in grave danger. your pupils shrink to slits and your hackles rise at the thought. kyros murmurs a confused, "huh?"

hopping up on your hind legs makes him coo, but your singular purpose is to get to his cheeks. a few licks will balance them out, smooth it out and refine it— balance it with you, and make it smell like home.

"boys, have you seen your mother?"

you’re in the middle of licking lucian’s forehead when sylus walks into their bedroom. he stares at his children, hair mussed in different directions, and they stare right back at him.

"papa!" kyros smiles, scrambling off the sheets to crash into sylus's knees. he is caught just in time before any teeth are knocked out, and lifted into a sturdy embrace.

lucian tilts his head closer to you when you bap his forehead with your mitten. you start licking at another spot on his head. "papa, a cat came in."

"it looks like it." he chuckles, recognizing the dragon li that has begun scenting his children as none other than his wife. it's happened before, anyway, what he didn't expect is that it would happen again.

he reaches out to squeeze lucian's cheek good morning, but your paw swats his hand away.

the silence is heavy.

he scoffs at you, appalled. "are you keeping him from me?"

you hiss, ears flat back and petulant. the answer, horrifyingly, a yes.

you try to chirp at kyros, redirect him back to you because— ugh, he just undid all the work you did and now he smells even more like his father and even less like you. luckily, he is obedient and wriggles out of his papa's grasp at your command, much to sylus's displeasure.

"hey!" sylus harrumphs, watching as kyros sidles up next to you and lucian. his brood, now within your litter.

you hiss at him again.

"no," lucian chides, petting your ears down. "das papa. he's nice."

"papa no hurt you." kyros supplies helpfully. "he big, but he no hurt."

sylus softens at his children's words. to you, he says, "see, kitten? i'm harmless."

"her name miss waffle-cake, papa," whispers kyros, offended for you. you meow in protest at the dubbed name, knowing how sylus will use it against you later on, but kyros holds you close now and sniffs you. "she smell sweet!"

"oh?" sylus grins, sinister and mischievous. "may i?"

he's fast when he takes you from kyros. the height you travel up to is sickening with the speed, it makes you squirm and cry in protest. soon you're face-to-face with your husband, eyes gleaming, and smirk treacherous.

his nose is in your belly in an instant. it tickles. you do not know whether to scream or laugh.

your meows are incomprehensible, and your limbs flail about against your control. in your head, you are screaming for your life.

"stop!" is yelled from below you, your own kittens now pawing at sylus's legs in outrage. "stop, she don'ike it!"

sylus breathes a chuckle as he cradles you to his chest. your sheathed claws tap at his cheek in mock pride, saying, yes! listen to your sons!

"papa, be nice!" squeaks lucian, seeming most affected by your distressed sounds. "she little!"

"give me!" demands kyros, hands outstretched upwards. waiting for your return in his protection.

sylus laughs at your smug expression, surprised a cat can even have such a prominent one, and promptly hands you back to kyros.

"sorry." kyros kisses your forehead softly, and you melt in his embrace. "papa silly sometime."

lucian comes to scratch your chin and bump his forehead against yours. angrily muttering under his breath, "big lizard."

your purrs get louder as your laughter turns hysterical in your brain.

oh, your sweet boys.

"okay, i'm sorry." sylus sinks down to the floor to kneel on his legs and bows his head. "i got... excited."

lucian is the one who shifts his body to be the barrier between him and you. "papa... like cats?"

sylus chuckles at the accusation. "i love cats. especially waffle-cake." he nods towards you. despite yourself, you tilt your head shyly.

"miss waffle-cake." kyros sneers. he did come up with the name, after all.

sylus raises his palms regretfully. "miss waffle-cake."

oh he's loving this. you snuff a breath at him through your little pink nose.

sylus pleads with his family now, eyes big and unguarded. begging to be included in the fun. "i promise to be gentle."

the twins look to one another. it wasn't like their papa to lie to them. he messes with them, regularly, sure, but he isn't mean, they think. lucian is the first to nod, and so kyros announces the ruling that papa can now be part of the i-love-miss-waffle-cake-club.

grateful, he squeezes himself onto lucian's bed and takes all three of you in the crisscross of his legs. bending close to your snout for a little nuzzle as he whispers, "just say when."

knowing that the last time this happened, turning back involved lips and true love.

you rub your cheek against his chin in acknowledgement.

the morning is spent indulging your family on their simple joys.

you'd become one of the world's greatest marvels, existing being your greatest feat to your children.

your quick zoomies around the room are exhilarating, especially with two little boys trying to catch you.

you sniff them until their stomachs hurt from laughing.

you teach them to make biscuits on papa, starting your own little bakery on his bottom.

even your instinctive licking (because they're starting to smell like sylus again) is so inexplicably beautiful to them, they just sit there and let it happen.

and naturally, under the warmth of the morning light, once curious eyes waver behind heavy lids. your own yawn from your place on sylus's chest, underneath his shirt, seems to trigger everyone else's.

positions are established like nature, and soon you're squeezed up against two little ones who've decided they want to be kittens in papa's shirt too.

but before they drift away, kyros takes your paw in his hand and lucian kisses your head and murmurs. "wish mama was here."

melting your heart into oblivion.

"having fun?" sylus inquires once lucian has followed his brother into a dream later on. you've crawled out of his shirt and perched yourself on his shoulder, curling around your babies as best you can.

you chirp at him, yes. and slowly blink at your sons.

"ready?" he asks softly, but it sounds like another request entirely.

the slight pucker of his lips is cute, showing a little more than he let on— if you knew how to look for it. an expert in reading your husband, you read him clear as day: he misses you.

so you lean in, but instinct trumps logic and your paws press against his lips. "mrph!"

"what?" he wonders. you're getting up and climbing on his head now. he feels the sharpened bristles of your tongue move his unstyled hair in all directions, doing more harm than good if your intention was to groom him.

he lets you finish the job, just as obedient as his sons, until you give him the kiss he's been waiting for.

when your feline eyes turn from large and crystaline to the ones he fell in love with, he smiles. "kitten."

meanwhile, your hands slide up to the back of his head to tug him down. his hair—now perfectly balanced in scent thanks to you— is askew, but you make no effort in fixing anything else.

you take a whiff and sigh in relief. "much better."

"because... you're not a cat anymore?" sylus inquires. unaware of the still fading inner workings of a feline's mind.

"sure," you shrug, kissing his cheek. then you turn to your sleeping babies on his chest and soften. "but that was good too."

“mama, eated?” he asks, glad to know now that you are awake. “mama, i get—i get nana? for you?”

“i’m okay, my angel.” you grumble, hiccuping back the cries that are triggered from his clueless compassion. “i’m not hungry.”

“mama sick?” lucian’s voice tilts into something somber and sad. now he tries to grip the duvet and climb the mattress to you. your heart beats like thunder.

“no, lucian—“

he makes his way up the slope, practiced and proficient, and crawls all the way over to you.

biting your lip enough to draw blood, you hide your face in the pillow, only allowing one eye to sight him. “lucian, listen to mama. go to papa.”

“no,” he plants himself firmly on the pillow beside your head and pats your clammy forehead. “mama sicky, need medicine.”

you catch his small fingers in your hand and hold it on his lap. “not sick, honey. i’m okay.”

he’s quiet for a while. the thought too profound to know why, he doesn’t seem to believe you. so he guesses again. “mama, bad day?”

your sinuses burn. softly, you ask. “what?”

“bad days no good.” he says. his voice of sympathy sounding all too familiar. he slides himself under the covers and squeezes himself in the space between your chest and the pillows. “bad days make woosi cry. is mama cry?”

there are weights on the corners of your lips, and smoke behind your eyes. the moonlight, once again, strikes his features so elegantly you’d think heaven sent a real angel for such a feeble soul. fresh air to your fumes. a gentle whisper to your silent tantrum.

the next sharp inhale you cannot hide, and in its trembling exhale lucian’s question is answered.

“i’m sorry, mama’s just…” you can’t explain. a bad day is true, but somehow it is not enough to encompass it all. and in his humble persistence, it feels like he deserves to know nothing short of that.

his hand, smelling of blueberries and milk, comes up to caress your hair. and his cheek falls onto the pillow before your one peeking eye. “s’okay, mama.”

“mama’s just very tired.” you whisper, turning your face to him. “and being tired makes me sad.”

“sad okay.” he says, wise beyond his years. you don’t have the time to wonder how. “sad now-mal like happy. sad is—is opposite!

“sad im…im-pow-tant too.”

he sounds so proud of himself for remembering. your fingers curl around his again and you kiss his palm. “yes, you’re right.” you take a breath. “mama is sorry for crying.”

“papa say no sorry for cryin.” lucian whispers to you like a secret. “papa say cryin is good, and cryin okay. helping— helping, uh, sad go out body.”

you smile. “he said that?”

“a-huh,” he snuggles closer. “and huggies help too.”

finally, like a bloom in spring, you uncurl yourself from your ball and wind your arms around the little body that has come to save you. “okay. let’s test that.”

his bell-like giggles are almost enough to flip your mood entirely when he is tickled by your closeness. never mind the ache in your ribs or the twinge in your neck; this pain is outmatched by the weight of your loving boy in your arms.

“yay,” he murmurs quietly when your sobs turn to small giggles. “i helping.”

you sigh, deep and freeing. “you are, my angel. i needed this, thank you.”

he shuts his eyes, and takes in a breath. “and woosi needy mama.”