#m.writes

He showers you in praise, in love, in affection, in everything you could ever desire. He tells you he loves you and kisses your fingertips under the soft light of the street lamp. He makes sure you get home safe—walks you home all the time, picks you up, and calls you when he gets home, too. He loves you, he does; his heart swells with love when you say it back. He just wants to see you happy.

Shoto is surprisingly more talkative than you thought he’d be. Whenever he’s not busy on patrol or duty, he’s calling or texting you, if he’s not with you in person. He’s always sending you a picture of his lunch, of him doing laundry or cooking. He thinks of you all the time; bringing you portions of food he’s made in travel containers, already warm.

You make him happier than he could ever imagine.

It makes him happiest spending the lovely nights between your legs, left hand intertwined with yours and right hand tucked in the crease between your hip and your thigh. He presses a tender kiss on your leg, one of love, one of adoration, one of care. He circles it with a light bite and relishes the way it makes your breath hitch in your throat.

His lips are smooth, likely due to your earlier makeout session, but it’s enough to send a buzz of heat to your core when he kisses you. Your panties are strung at the junction of your knee, leaving you bare to your two-toned boyfriend. He takes his time with you, as he always does. Maintaining eye contact with you, making sure you’re looking at him and only him as you lose yourself in his eyes. His thumb rubs the back of your hand and the warmth of his touch distracts you in the mere second it happens, somehow managing to miss the way he pulls his right hand back and pushes it up against your thigh, briefly but slowly pushing it out of the way.

Something in his eyes grows dark when his mouth meets you, lightly dragging his tongue over where you want him, and it dips between your folds but only for a second. Shoto slips his middle and ring fingers in, folding his index and pinky underneath his thumb. Sometimes, it makes you wonder exactly how he knows what he’s doing and what to do, but it’s soon pushed to the back of your mind when they brush a spot in you that has you weeping.

“Please, Shoto,” you whisper, words slipping out your mouth like honey. So soft and so sweet and so melodic to his ears. And when you ask like that—so nicely like that, he has to obey. Soon, he has you keening at the way he twists his fingers and moves them, expertly meeting everywhere you need him to be. He’s done this plenty of times before, yes, but he has a way of making it feel like it’s your first. It’s addicting, it’s breathtaking, it’s everything.

You roll your hips to match the rhythm of his fingers, and the heightened feeling has your toes curling. You can’t bear to look at him anymore for fear of cumming too early, and he knows that, yet his whisper of, “Look at me, baby,” nearly sends you teetering over the edge.

“Please,” you plead, and your voice sounds raw from pleasure; it’s scratchy and rough, but he thinks you sound just as beautiful. His mouth finds your clit and you sob his name, his tongue flicking over it and his mouth making the most obscene slurping noises you’ve ever heard. That, paired with the squelching noise your cunt makes around his fingers, walls sucking them like they intend to keep him there, is enough for you.

You fall, sweet and warm buzzes of your release working their way up your body and touch you from your head to the buzz in your toes. It’s pleasing and it’s heavenly, just like they always are with him.

He keeps at it until he’s finished, greedily lapping up everything you have to give him—it’s not until you nudge him that he releases you with a wet ‘pop’. Rising up to meet your lips, pressing his slick-coated lips to yours so you can taste yourself—taste that sweet saccharine of yours, and how it is just so divine when it comes from him. His fingers are still buried into you at the knuckle, and he keeps them there for a while, until you pull away and your eyes flutter open—that’s when he removes them. Slowly, your eyes catch the thin string following from where you’re dripping to where he’s coated.

And you watch him. Watch him where he parts his lips and sets them on his tongue, pulling them in and sucking your slick off like he’s in a movie. You’re looking at him like he’s the hottest thing in the room, because he is.

“Was that good?” Shoto asks you, voice low, but he’s not looking for an answer—he can see it in your hazy eyes, slack jaw and heaving chest that it was. But you give him an answer anyway, mustering up a small nod, to which he smiles and cups your cheek, planting a kiss on your forehead.

You two cuddle while you catch your breath and give time for your legs to stop shaking—which you didn’t notice until long after you’d finished and broken out of your high—when you turned to him. You were so cute like this, so pretty, so lovely looking up at him like that after he’d just rocked your world.

“Sho?” You call for him, quiet as a whisper. He hums in reply and brushes the tip of your cheek with his thumb. It takes you a second to reply, like you haven’t asked the question before,

“I wanna get you off too,” you murmured, leaning your face into his hand. You always felt bad because he always went down on you with no problem, no questions asked, but didn’t ask for anything in return. And he didn’t want to, reassuring you that he was more than content with what you did.

But when your fingers ghost over his belt buckle, fiddling with the strap, he couldn’t say no. He couldn’t pass up the beautiful sight of seeing you on your knees, wrapping your pretty lips around him like you do.

And of course Shoto agrees, because he’s eager to please.

It didn’t matter because he had followed through with what he had set his mind out to do. The looks Rumlow was giving him after all the smack talk he had served him was satisfying enough. Even if he didn’t think you did, he saw you standing there alongside his friends, celebrating the win of his life.

He couldn’t but smile proudly at your presence, even if the disapproval you have against his lifestyle was well known between the two of you and everyone else in your friend group.

Steve knew you weren’t a fan of the injuries you brought home in your shared apartment, the nights you actually stayed there. With Jordan’s absence from New York, you’d been staying there more consistently than ever.

He would never admit it out right, but it made his heart full. With you home, he could protect and he worried wherever you weren’t there. Even if he knew you were fully capable of defending yourself if need be, it would always make him feel better when you were close to him.

Just like him, you could confess it even to yourself, but when you were back in the apartment you shared with Steve, you’d always felt safer.

He went straight to the locker room, to clean himself up as best as he could without making his friends and Tony wait too long. He’d usually go straight to them but the group took notice he held himself back when you were around.

The first match you went to and he came up with bruises running along both rib cages, a bloody nose accompanied by a busted lip, he immediately took notice of the way you cowered away from him. Barely even looking at him as you congratulated him. From then on out, he realized how much it bothered you to see him physically injured.

When you’d come, he’d always make sure to clean himself up before. It really worked out on the days he didn’t want to be around many people. Only the stragglers from the crowd would be left, and his friends who supported him nearly every time.

As soon as he made his way over to the group, he was met with Sam’s warm smile pulling him into a warm hug. You found yourself wincing as soon as Steve did. “Easy there big buy, bruises are still fresh.” Sam let up just a tad, before everyone was congratulating him. You stood back with Tony, watching the proud smile grow on his face as he watched his prodigy surpass his monumental goal.

“You should think about coming to more matches. He fights better when you’re here watching him.” You twisted your neck so you could see his coach more clearly who was standing right beside you. “I’m sure he plays just as well when I’m not here. I still watch them everytime, just from home when it’s too much for me to stomach.”

You looked forward away from Tony, Steve coming into your line of vision as Sharon, his ex who had surprisingly shown up to corral by his side, someone you’d hadn’t seen near him in the past few weeks since she’d been out of the country for work.

“His technique and endurance is the same, but his intensity always rises higher when you’re here. I’m not the only one who notices, maybe the only one bold enough to say it to you.” Tony spoke as watched the man he took in when Steve was just sixteen.

Truly, it made his heart swell with pride to see him reach the level of success he had been dreaming for him since the pair had met. Knowing Steve for the past five years, also made him hyper aware of the girl he never seemed to shut up about, not that you’d ever find out.

No matter how much Tony was dying to let the words slip off his tongue.

“I’m just happy to be here for him.” Keeping your words short as you watched Sharon move closer to him, her hand resting on his chest and he didn’t even move away from it. You tried to ignore the ugly shade of green rising in your chest, but with him it always seemed to show.

Not that you’d had a right to, you weren’t single or emotionally available by any means, but the thought of him being with someone who had hurt him so much made you more protective of him than you had a right to be.

“C’mon little dove, have you thought about why you’d rather stay in the dinged up apartment with Steve than be with your boyfriend of three years across the country?” He pressed harder, making sure you were careful of your response. “My friends are here and so is my family. I can’t just leave everyone I love behind.” Your gaze never left Steve’s as he finally was out of Sharon’s grip.

“Steve’s here, too. You sure it has nothing to do with him?” Part of you couldn’t stand there with Tony and lie to him because you weren’t sure what was the nature of your relationship with the boxer.

Thankfully, you were saved from responding by the devil himself as made his way over to the two of you. Much to your dismay, he had to get in a few more words before Steve was in earshot. “Just think about why Steve lives with you when he’s had more than enough to move out for a while now.”

Before you could even process the words leaving his mouth, your favorite man in the ring immediately has you wrapped up in his arms. Holding you so close and so tightly, not even caring if it put more pressure on his lungs than he wished.

“Congrats on the win, Champion. I’m so proud of you.” The arms you had around him were placed gently, too afraid to put any weight on the new bruises. Not to mention the old ones which were still healing.

Once he pulled away from you, just enough so you could look at him. He hummed at Tony and with one nod of his head he knew when the young boxer wanted to be left alone. More times than not, it is usually with you.

“I thought you weren’t coming tonight. Isn’t Jordan in town?” Not even when it was the biggest moment of his career thus far did he care to indulge in his victories. Always it seemed to be looking after you.

“Stevie, this is your night. We don’t have to talk about me — we’re always talking about me.” For a moment he almost bought your act until he looked into those dazzling eyes of yours, ones he never seemed to grow tired of in the past few years.

“I’m not happy unless you’re happy. So, if you need a night where we just watch romcoms and chow on cookie dough ice cream, you know I’m all yours.” Unknowing to the two of you, everyone of your friends was watching the encounter and still couldn’t believe you still were with your current boyfriend.

Or that Steve was just waiting for you patiently. Something that didn’t come easy for him around women. Before you, he didn’t really do relationships with women that didn’t end with him in their bed at some point. Somehow, much to everyone’s dismay, he managed to keep his interactions platonic with you.

At least in their eyes.

“No, Stevie. I’m fine. He just didn’t follow through this time. It’s not the end of the world, I’ll be fine. Tonight, I just wanna be by your side and celebrate you.” Although, he didn’t really believe you Steve decided he would let it go.

“Regardless of it, thank you for coming tonight. Means the world to me.” It really did. Even more so, when he felt like he was one of the reasons you were still in Brooklyn and not in California living with your boyfriend instead.

“Oh, hush bubba. You’re getting so soft on me and you haven’t even had a proper drink in you yet. Let’s just celebrate with our friends, yeah?” You kissed his cheek sweetly, before you were off to Bucky and Nat’s place to get properly fed and surely get Steve drunk off his ass.

It really was the elephant in the room you were choosing to ignore. The fluttering feeling of adventurous butterflies traveling to spaces you didn’t know existed. Everytime he pulled you close to his side or kissed your temple.

When Bucky would do something monumentally stupid, he would whisper a line in your ear humorous enough to hear you laugh. Even right now, when you knew he was exhausted, muscles sore and aching — Steve was still tending to whatever you needed.

In this moment, your body nestled between his legs as he draped his arm across your chest, letting him hold you close was exactly what you needed. Even if you tried to remove yourself several times because of the new injuries, he would never let you.

“What’s next, Rogers?” Steve watched as he craned his neck towards Sharon. You’d almost forgotten she was here, she’d been so quiet most of the night.

“A whole lot of rest and then in a few weeks, right back into training.” He spoke with pride because winning the title went hand and hand with defending it. “You should come to the club. Danielle’s been itching to see you, again.”

Steve grimaced, not just as Sharon’s words, but with how stiff your body became. The way you rubbed back and forth with the tip of your fingers against his forearm came to a halt.

You weren’t really sure what to do because now you felt horrible for even feeling like you had a right to be upset in the first place. Because you didn’t. You weren’t single and Steve was. In this space in time, he did nothing wrong.

When you followed Nat back into the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine, away from him, it felt like he had made a mistake.

Just watching as you followed Nat up the pathway, in your pretty green dress, as you messed with the necklace adoring your neck. Something he learned you did when you were anxious.

“Why would you bring that up now? In front of her?” He was slightly pissed off she had driven you away and out of his arms. Steve would have you within his grip constantly if you would let him. Not that you did, but it was still a certain something he found himself wishing for. More than not though, someone else always seemed to hold your attention whenever he wasn’t in the ring.

Jordan. Tony. Sam. Natasha. Bucky. Wanda.

Tonight had seemed it might go in a different direction, until Sharon steered your mind elsewhere. One where you were a girl who missed her boyfriend. Or at least that’s what he thought.

Unknowingly to Steve, Jordan was the last thing on your mind, which allowed the guilt to settle in. Maybe, just this one time it was rightfully placed. The thoughts you were having scared you senseless — making you want to do something you knew you shouldn’t.

You just sat there on the padded bar tool as Nat grabbed a bottle of white with a bottle of red. Like time and time again, Nat read your mind just as she often did. “So, why couldn’t he come this time?” She drilled into you, her iridescent daggers as piercing as ever.

“He said he forgot his mother asked him to help her move out of the house. He said he’d make it up to me some other time.” Just like always.

But you held your tongue before voicing it to anyone other than yourself. It’d been months since you’d seen him in the flesh, and it was the first time he spoke to you in days when he informed you he’d been unable to spend any of his time off with you.

“He’s just never here and he keeps asking for me to move to Los Angeles, but my whole life is here. Before, he never seemed to really pressure me. He was always patient with me to travel at my own pace but I think he ultimately thought I would eventually go there with him.” You breathed out, scared of the truth dripping right out of you.

“I just-, you know what? Nevermind. It’s isn’t important.” She was never one to bite her tongue, but she found herself trying to when your feelings were involved.

“Tell me. What is it?” Your curious, bambi eyes peering into your soul, dying to pull the confession right out of her.

“Do you even miss him when you’re apart for so long? I’m not judging but it just seems like you’re okay. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, but why don’t you ever go to him or Jordan to you?” Natasha spoke softly, afraid she might be poking the bear just a bit.

“Of course I miss him. I would see him if I could. I’m just a little too busy right now with work and my family.” You attacked back, feeling the need to defend yourself.

“Are you really going to make me say it?” With both bottles of wine on the counter, she went to grab three more wine glasses — for Sharon, herself, and you.

“Say what? What the hell are you talking about?” You pushed her as she put out the bottles of wine as she managed to link the three vines of the glasses in her left fingertips. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.” She was regretting it now, because maybe you weren’t quite ready to hear the words everyone else knew to be true. Anyone who was around the two of you could see it.

Perhaps, Nat never spoke a word of it because at the very least, she thought you wouldn’t be as naive to see his feelings. The ones he seemed to offer you on a silver platter, whether you wanted to reject or accept the offering, giving it to you wholeheartedly.

Following her out the patio door where the two of you stopped, not moving a step further. She didn’t really say anything either. Letting you bask in the glow before the fall.

He was laughing so hard, his hand clutching his chest as him. Golden hair shining bright by the fire pit, almost as

lively as his smile. Even if it looked like his spirit could have been beaten out of him tonight, he’d never show it.

When he had trouble keeping his eyes open, he’d force himself to stay alert because moments he could spend with ones he loved seemed too precious to pass up. Especially over the past few months — he didn’t even have to think twice about it.

Through the schedule Tony had him on, his life was eating, breathing, living boxing. Training every day in the gym, whether it be furthering his techniques in the gym to Tony making him regret any mistake he made in the ring.

Even some days he was just weight training when Tony told him he could rest. He couldn’t though. Not when he could taste the sweetness of his dreams on the tip of his tongues.

Every day, dawn till dusk, training consumed every moment of his time. Steve thought his body was restless before, but now? Nothing came even close to this.

Leading Steve to be blissfully unaware of what was actually going in that fantastically bold head of yours.

“Just spill it, Romanov.” You pressured her, but your eyes were too weak to redirect your directions elsewhere. Only Steve holding your attention at one.

“Remember when Steve left for Spain for three months with Tony?” Your body stilled, having a feeling you knew where this was going. Regretting you told her what had happened with Steve in the first after promising him it would just stay between the two of you.

“It was the year Jordan and I had split for two months.” The memory of what happened always clouding your better judgement. The way his eyes shined still haunted you. “Steve had already been there a month when it happened and the second I told him he insisted on flying me out.”

Looking at him fondly, across the greenery before speaking so softly as if he was right next to you, “I could never say no to him. I still can’t.” Nat tried to ignore it but she could see through the fog of your first love fading even if you were trying your hardest to avoid the inevitable heartache.

The care you held for him was oozing out of you, bursting and breaking at the seams. When you kept thinking of him more than a roommate, more than a friend.

“Dove, you can’t just keep pretending your feelings don’t exist. The more you try to bury the root deep the more it will grow.” You knew she was right, but you really didn’t want to hurt anyone.

You supposed you were already causing pain unintentionally. “His biggest insecurity is him. Jordan thinks I’m still here because of him.” You confessed, the ongoing fight no secret to anyone, really.

“Aren’t you?” Maybe if you had been a better liar, you could’ve convinced her but everyone could read you like the back of your own hand.

You hated the spotlight she was putting on you, but even more so because she was right. Moving forward with Jordan meant leaving someone else behind, something you couldn’t seem to prepare yourself to do.

“I love Jordan. He’s my first love and I thought he would be the greatest one, too.” You really want to stop the love and admiration flowing out of you, but you couldn’t choose who you love and maybe it was time for you to stop fighting it.

“Then, I met Steve. He responded to the ad I put out for the spare room in my apartment and we met for coffee.” If you had listened to your mother, her wishes of you not to be in the company of a man who was a complete stranger, you’d never meet the most important person in your life.

“He looked more like a boy back then. Clean shaven. No beard. Steve was still muscular, but not nearly as toned as he is now. But his eyes? They pulled me right in. Still do, every damn time.” You should have held some sort of shame, but you didn’t.

“You should do something about it, Dove. He isn’t going to be single forever.” Nat questioned as you followed her lead, back to the roaring fire.

“Nat, I love Jordan. I could never do that to him.” You really couldn’t, but you also couldn’t find it in you to move with him either. “I know you love him, but you aren’t in love anymore.” Growing closer and closer, back to the group, you saw him clearly.

“What do you mean?” Trying to ignore the pain in your chest as Natasha spoke. “I think you’re scared of ending it with Jordan. Dove. I’ve known you for a long time now and I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you do with Steve.”

The words spilling out of her lips left you a little broken — the truth spearing you through. She wasn’t wrong, not one bit. Nat never nearly was, especially when your feelings were involved. Steve had become such an enigma to you in the past year.

The line of platonic friendship and overflowing emotional intimacy was becoming too entangled for you to even comprehend.

“Just think about it. I just want you to be happy.” The rest of the night, it’s all you could think about. A few days passed and it was still in the forefront of your mind.

When Steve was walking home with you this week, you couldn’t stop wondering all the hypotheticals swarming inside your dreams.

He could tell, too.

You’d never been so quiet, not ever. He’d like to hear you, especially when you were drunk. Like you seemed to be now, at least to him but tequila that lit a fire in your chest a few hours ago was beginning to wear off. Just when the feelings you kept trying to avoid would seep there way back in like your furry, fat cat Thor when he wormed his body through the gate into the apartment.

“What’s wrong? You’ve seemed off this week.” You felt his hand kiss yours, but he didn’t bother to find it’s home. He’d been keeping his distance or at least been trying to. You'd been so vulnerable lately and the last thing he wanted to do was exploit that.

Ever since Sharon had made a comment about Danielle, and you escaped with Nat, something changed. You more guarded around him, more than you'd ever been since you met.

Steve knew there was a reason for it, but he didn't want to push you — not when it looked like you would combust into a breakdown at any given moment.

“I’ve just been thinking about where my life is going and where I want it to go.” You confessed, letting your words linger. “Jordan wants me to move with him to California and I’m running out of reasons to say no.” In perfect harmony, your eyes met his at the same time.

They weren’t joyful what his bright blues usually possess, but this time they were indifferent. Not even you could read them.

“Do you want to move there with him?” Steve asked you, his heart on the verge of dropping into his stomach. “If it will make you happy, you should.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, you watched him drift away from you.

“I don’t know. It might.” Both of you coming to a halt, walking up to the apartment the two of you shared.

“He’s insecure about you. It’s why he’s pressuring me.” The two of your bodies so close but so far away as you stood in the doorway. With a confusing gaze and pouty lips, practically guiding you into temptation.

“He used to always tell me you were in love with me. He was fully convinced, still is. I never thought so. You were just my best friend, that was it. I just never really thought about it unless Jordan brought it up.” You would have loved to blame your sudden outburst on the alcohol, but it was something you'd been dying to do.

Before you never had the guts, but you a felt a pull towards Steve lately, like maybe there was something more trying to burst under the seams.

“I thought Tony was bullshitting me, fucking with me, but I didn’t ever give it a thought. Then, Nat brought up Spain.” Nights you told yourself were a mistake, but deep down it was the probably the safest you felt in a long time.

“What are you talking about? What did Tony say?” Fetching for the key, he slid it in before opening the door for you and following you inside. “Steve, why do you still live here?” Blushing cheeks and a string of incoherent words was all you could make out from him.

As he headed for the small couch, trying to make up an excuse good enough. One which you’d actually believe, he hoped.

“You make four times as much as me, if not more. For some reason, you’ve decided to stay in this shithole apartment — it doesn’t make sense.” He wished you would make sense of it, that way he didn’t have to say a word.

“Do you want me to move out?” He questioned, watching your movements. If you wanted him to move out, he wouldn’t hesitate to do so.

It was the last thing you wanted, but the line between your friendship with him was always blurred. Only now, when it was vaguely pointed out by the two people close to the both of you — it became more apparent than ever.

“No, I just, I guess I’m asking why. You know you’re more than welcome to stay here as long as you’d like, but this place is a dump, Steve. Why on earth would you wanna stay here?” When he looked up, where you stood above him having a hard time biting his tongue.

Because you’re here.

It’s what he wanted to say, but he didn’t have the right and he would just be an asshole if he put you in a compromising position. He already felt guilty enough with his feelings in the first place, he didn't need to pile on.

“I guess it’s just easier to stay. It’s so close to the ring and I’m maybe a tad too comfortable.” You sat next to him on the couch. Finding yourself trapped in the green of his eyes. “Don’t you want something better?” Maybe it was him or maybe it was you. Neither of you could tell.

The two of you inched closer until Steve was caressing your thigh, just with the tip of his thumb. “I’m more than happy with where I’m at.”

“Well, I’m asking because I need to go to California. Just for a bit. I need to see Jordan, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen him.” He didn’t stop touching, not even with the mention of his name.

Even if it pierced him every time you talked about him. Or when Jordan came to town, he felt like he didn’t exist to you.

He didn’t blame you, not at all. Jordan was your highschool sweetheart, and you wanted so badly for it to work but something was holding you back. Something you were trying to let go of.

“He loves me so much and wants to start building this whole new life, but how am I supposed to tell him?” Steve said nothing, letting you sink into the ground.

“He’s been nothing, but kind and loving. Always there, always supportive. The best partner I could have asked for.” Steve laced your hand in his like it was the most natural thing in the world, making butterflies erupt at full speed.

You couldn’t really pinpoint a moment when he started, but all you knew is how safe his warm, calloused hands made you feel. Since the moment you met, never failing to comfort you when needed.

“Then what’s the problem, Dove?” Steve questioned you, untangling his body from yours.

If he was going to help you, he needed to think and being so close to you wouldn’t get himself where you needed. Above all, you didn’t make any easier when a small whine left your throat — tugging at his heart strings.

“We never talk about what happened in Barcelona.” You watched his body tighten, muscles in his arm constricting.

It made him feel just as uneasy as it did to you. At least you could find comfort in that.

“Dove, there’s a reason for it. You and I both know it.” Steve was right. His self righteous sense of nature always kicked in when you wanted it the least.

“You don’t think about it? Because I do.” Pushing weight on his heart, you were very aware you held. You weren’t too naive to know just how much he cared for you, but coward enough to try and make him admit it first.

“You were broken up, things are different now. We’re home where you have a boyfriend and I have boxing.”

“Yes, where I have a boyfriend who wants me to abandon everything I hold close to me to join him without even bothering to ask me what I want.” You puffed out, exhaustion coming in overflow. “The past year, he hasn’t once asked me what I want.”

The boy with golden locks found himself wanting nothing more than to hold you in his arms, nurse you back to health with all the love he could offer.

But even he knew he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t keep on spreading himself thin over a woman who was so conflicted, so distraught she was collapsing within herself. If he wasn’t too careful, he might fall right beside you.

“Before we got back together, he asked me.” You confessed, feeling better as soon as the secret flew from your mouth. “He asked you what?” Steve pressed on, a bit terrified of it truly, but even he had to know.

“He asked if anything happened between us the months I was there and I lied. Ever since we met, he’s been insecure. He thinks I’m going to leave you for him and it wasn’t the first time he asked either.” You wish you hadn’t dealt with the two of them so poorly, but with the expression on Steve’s face you knew you had.

“He knows I lied and it hurts even more he stayed with me anyways.” Steve didn’t move, his fear keeping him still.

“I don’t know how to be his after you, but I don’t know how to let go of my high school sweetheart either.” You felt trapped, in between an impossible decision. An old love, who loves you past your mistakes, past the hurt and a soulful heart admiring you from where you’re at and nothing less.

“Those nights don’t have to mean anything if you don’t want them to.” He spoke softly, his beautiful orbs catching yours in the moonlight peeking through the window.

“They mean too much to me, that’s the problem.” If he didn’t move as you inched closer to his body, planting yourself in front of him, you could tell he was straining himself.

“Do you remember the first time?” He looked confused, wondering if you truly were bold enough to speak of something you shouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole. Your hand found his chest, feeling the pulse of his rapid heart beat. “I was so shy and timid the first time with you, but you guided me so well.” Too fond of the memory of him worshipping every part of your body.

The very thing he wanted to do since the moment he met you, but Steve wanted more than that. Now more than ever.

“You don’t have to remind me, Dove. I remember.” He swallowed deeply, trying to erase the permanent memory of your body writhing beneath him, moaning out his name, begging him for more.

He still found himself thinking about it. Those two months with you had just amplified what he felt even more because now he knew what it was like for you to wake up in his arms, bare skin against his own.

The way you curled into his chest, your arms wrapped around his waist for optimal comfort.

Or when he’d wake up before you, which was most days, he’d find you murmuring his name in your sleep while soft fingertips caressed your skin lulling you into a more peaceful slumber.

“I never forget, Dove. That’s the problem.” With one finger, he pushed back the hair falling in your face tucking it behind your ear. “I tried to move past it, I went on a couple dates with this woman, Danielle.” You already felt your heart clench at the thought of him with someone else.

“She’s kind, smart, and beautiful and she seems to like me. Sharon keeps bugging me to take her out again since she set the two of us up.” Steve was trying to talk calmly, but he couldn’t ground himself. Especially when you only seemed to pull back further from him.

It was weird that Sharon set the pair up, considering she dated Steve not too long ago but it seemed she could put her feelings inside if it was for your despair.

In her daunting eyes, you were the reason her and the promising boxer broke up in the first place. As cliche as it was, she offered Steve an ultimatum after six months of dating — her or you.

Steve picked you.

It wasn’t like he loved her at that point. He did care for her, but you just meant too much to him. When kind, iridescent eyes met his own for the first time Steve never was able to stop thinking about them. Or you for that matter.

Carefully calculated as Steve could be, he managed to trap you between the closed door of his bedroom and his toned body.

“But I want to hear you say something before I do.” His gaze never faltered for a moment as he played with the hem of the short slip dress adoring your taut figure.

Half of your mind was begging you to retreat into your room and forget the last time you’d been pressed up against him like this. The other half wanted to see what he would do once he knew you were in the palm of his hand once again.

You had a feeling he already did.

His beard was grown out and his silky, golden hair that almost reached his shoulders make him look even more deliciously sinful.

“What’s that?” You tried not to gulp loudly, but if you even made the slightest movement, he would notice. “Tell me you’re in love with him.” His soft thumb caressing your side, not sure if he was trying to soothe himself or you.

“Just tell me five years down the line, you see him right there with you. Just say it, so I can move on.” He couldn’t even look at you, he couldn’t take the inevitable. “Tell me we’re just friends and Jordan’s your future.” You met his eyes, the prettiest blues you’ll ever see.

Commanding your attention without even trying — every damn time. You weren’t sure what you wanted, but you knew seeing him hurt was chipping a piece of you away. Watching his arched eyebrows furrowed in distress, fine lines being made in the middle for proof.

Soft fingertips met his skin, smoothing out his furrowed brows, closing his eyes trying to remember what you smelled like. Just like Sharon reached her breaking point, he had too. Steve couldn’t watch you any longer without being the one you wanted without a doubt.

“Stevie.” You softly whisper, before pulling him into your arms.

Even if he was double your size, he let you hold him as best as you could. Comfort him even if you were the reason he’s breaking.

The strong, persistent boxer had been transported back to the sick and thin kid he once was before all the guns and glory came. Steve was right back to where he got rejected by anyone and everyone. A time and many places where no one gave a damn about Steve Rogers, not anyone he wished for.

You watched him untangle himself from you, but you weren’t sure just how much time had passed. A few minutes? Thirty? An hour?

Only time could tell and she wasn’t really on your side at the moment.

“I’ve only found love once. Back in high school, there was this girl, Hazel. She was kind, sweet, eyes that shined like fresh honey. The first person to ever show any interest in me and I was in love with the fact that someone actually wanted me.” Steve felt his heart clench at the memory he wished to forget.

“I truly believed I loved her with every fiber in me and I thought she cared about me too, until I realized she was just using me to get to Bucky.” You watched the distress wash over him again and you wanted nothing more than to make him feel appreciated and loved. Not rejected and forgotten.

“It broke my heart for months because I truly believed I was in love with this girl who I hardly knew.” He sighed deeply, like he somehow already was aware of the soft whisper of goodbye.

“It always kind of stayed with me, not ever feeling like I was good enough for anyone until Tony found me. Graduated high school and I started training dawn till dusk until I couldn’t anymore just to start all over and do it the next day.” He was looking everywhere but you. Even if there was not a thing in this damn hallway, but two pressured hearts.

“Not too long after, I met you and I remember thinking this is the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever met in my life.” Now, feeling like an absolute dick because you truly didn't deserve for this wonderful man to be in your life.

“You were so kind to me and you had no reason to be, but I learned it’s just who you are. This amazingly bright full beam, shining their light on everyone else — not paying attention to how much they give even if it’s everything they have.” Your skin felt hot beyond comparison, the passion in the words he spoke deeper than the memory of his skin against your own.

“I always tried to ignore it, how stupidly kind and thoughtful you are. How much you take care of me when you don’t have to. You cleaned my wounds for months without even asking me what I was doing.”

“I already knew you had a boyfriend, one you love very much, but I couldn’t stop myself from being around you. Now, I have to leave. I need to move on for me because I know how this ends for me — how it always has.” He sighed before walking away, leaving you hanging in every conceivable way. You didn’t notice the suitcase by the door before. Until he was walking out of the apartment with his possessions in hand — out of sight and out of mind.

“Wait!” He was already making it to his car, the old beat up pickup truck he couldn’t seem to get rid of when you reached him. “I just need time, Steve.” You’d been sprinting after him, until you caught up to him, making his attention fully focused on you.

“Jordan’s the only boyfriend I’ve ever had — I don’t know how to let him go.” You were crying because maybe, deep down you were hoping you could have your cake and eat it too.

“And you’re the only person I’ve ever been in love with, Dove. I can’t keep sticking around hoping you’ll wake up one day and feel the same.” He emptied his belongings in his truck before returning his attention towards you.

“Steve, don’t do this. Please. Don’t leave me.” You’d become so dependent on him, more than you realized. “You’re the only person who truly loves me and not for who they want me to be.” Trying to plead with him, but it felt like you were only pushing him even further away.

“Then tell me I’m the only one you want.” But all he was left with silence because you couldn’t and he already knew what you didn’t. He knew you hated change more than anything, that you’d rather stay in what was comfortable even if you were presented with a different option.

Someone you wanted more.

With tears in your eyes, you looked up at him like he was crushing you and there was nothing to stop the numbing feeling. He sympathized, maybe more than he liked to admit, it’s what he chose to live with over the past year. It started the moment he met you if he was truly being honest.

He knew there was nothing left for him, no matter how much his heart clenched at the sound of your cries. He couldn’t be the one who was always taking care of you, loving you, when you didn’t feel what he felt. It was splitting him open, and you just kept taking pieces of him away — parts of him you would hold forever.

He let you cling onto him one more time, begging for him not to leave you. He let you believe he wouldn’t as he calmed you back in a false sense of security. Until you were asleep in his soft sheets later that night, leaving you lonely in the home you’d been sharing.

With only half of his belongings with him, he pulled up to the project he had just completed. Even now, with not a single hope you would ever see it after he just abandoned you, there was still a light hope you’d be able to at least see it one day. If Steve was ever strong enough to face his heartbreak again.

the scream doesn't even have enough time to make it past your throat.

faster than the eye can see, yeonjun pounces, his hands reaching out to clutch your throat before the weight of his body running at full speed sends the both of you crashing onto the floor. shards of ceramic cut jagged into your skin, the cake topples out of your hands; the white tiles smear red, even under the lowlight.

you let out a choked gasp, fingers scrabbling at his to let go of your throat, but it only draws a snarl from his chest, pupils shrinking as he tightens his grip around your neck.

it's going to bruise tomorrow, you think distantly, your vision blurring at the edges. it's going to bruise tomorrow and yeonjun is going to be so worried asking how—

oh.

the reality of it all hits you, the imminency of being eaten, the tragedy that would be your death at the hands of the one you loved most, but even still, you try one last plea, your hands wrapped around his wrists as you wheeze out your next words. "jun, it's just me." you don't even know if he's still there anymore. "please."

and for a moment, he stops. the black void in his eyes, the dot of red lying within, the sight is hauntingly familiar in ways you've forced yourself to forget.

his moment of hesitation is enough for you to free your leg underneath him to kick yeonjun away, his grip on you ripped off as you scramble to the other side of the room, gasping for air.

it's seared into your mind as the charred memories flake ashes into your skin, your bones. your throat burns as you remember a night years ago, caught between the grip of a ghoul and the brick wall of an abandoned alleyway. it was all too dark to see, but you remember only one thing—the crimson glow of his eyes, blood that has not yet been spilt.

"it was you," you choke. perhaps it would have been better to just have died ignorant. "that night, it was you."

yeonjun blinks. recognition is still hazy on his face, but the longer he stares at you confusion morphs into horror. black scleras recede back to white, and he looks down at his shaky hands, the shards from earlier split into his palms. "i did it again," he breathes; it's all the answer you need to hear.

“did you know?” the question is squeezed out, barely able to form on your tongue as you breathe it into existence. “this entire time, did you know i was the same person? was this your plan all along, to lure me in just so i could be your next meal—”

“no!”

yeonjun’s vehement denial slices through the air. “no, i would never do that. i didn’t mean for this to happen, i never wanted you to find out. i—”

i love you, he means to say, but even he knows those words wouldn’t mean much of anything anymore.

“i’m sorry,” he settles for instead, and despite yourself, you know he’s genuine in at least this.

letting out a shaky breath, you stand on wobbly legs, one foot slowly put in front of the other. it’s stupid of you to even consider this, especially after everything that’s happened tonight, but you’ve always been too much of a fool when it comes to yeonjun.

“okay.” in your mind, you still see breakfast at a table for two, gentle hands and soft smiles outlined in morning glow. it’s still yeonjun, you tell yourself. it’s always been yeonjun, and it’s always been you—it was as much of the truth as anything else. you crouch down, thumb brushing hair from his forehead.

You’d dealt with many cats before that. For many, as soon as you even so much as had your fingertips graze their fur the wrong way, they’d go scurrying off. Some even liked to lash out. This cat, however, was a curious little fellow—you were fairly certain it was a fellow—it liked to lay just out of your reach, near you, whenever you came to sit underneath the maple tree in the warm afternoons; on days when the sun was just peaking at its highest before dipping down below the horizon. Now that autumn was in full force, days were growing shorter and the warmth which you sought by the sun and the maple—a space to think freely and escape your worries—was also growing shorter as the chill of the oncoming winter began to set in earlier and earlier each day.

The cat seemed to have the same idea as you, seeking out the tree for afternoon naps and letting you rant your heart away. Somehow, it almost seemed as if the feline was listening to you—but not just listening, understanding, as well. The little black feline would fix you with a gaze that was so deep and knowing, you sometimes felt as if you were oversharing. Whenever the cat met your eyes, you could feel your heart seize up in your chest; the idea of the creature somehow understanding what you were saying causing you to panic and double back, wondering if your thoughts were safe with the little cat.

But the comfort the cat brought was something that couldn’t be matched by the company of your friends and family. It was nice to have someone to just talk to and listen, someone that didn’t reply all the time. Even if that someone wasn’t exactly a human. Even if that someone happened to have some human-like personality traits that left you wondering. Cats were intelligent, though, so you never found yourself questioning it too much.

After some time, you push yourself up into a sitting position from where you lay on your side in the grass, letting out another long sigh. This time, your breath doesn’t even so much as reach the cat. However, your presence shifting causes the small animal to stir, letting out a ‘mrrmph’ and stretching out of the ball it had been curled into, rolling over onto its side. The cat lazily blinks up at you, before licking a paw and swiping it over its face, repeating the action and grooming itself.

“This is why my mom told me not to move away to a small town like this. She called me a romantic for trying to follow my dreams—be a writer, live in a cozy space unknown to the world and basically off the grid.” Instead of sighing, you scoff this time. “Little did she know I’d actually become a romantic and fall in love with someone who doesn’t even know I exist… or maybe she did know. Moms seem to somehow know everything…”

You groan, letting your face fall into your hands. “I can’t believe I spilled that all over him this morning—I don’t even want to go to work tomorrow.”

Before one emotion can even settle, you’re letting out another groan and falling back into the grass again. You hit the ground with a slight thud. Next to you, the cat startles in surprise, but doesn’t move.

“I have to be up for seven… I have to open the shop… ugh I hate opening shifts, that’s too early. We saw what happened today! I didn’t even get enough sleep and then that disaster unfolded!”

From next to you, the cat watches as you work through your turmoil of thoughts and emotions for the third time since coming to the maple tree. Before one can settle, another begins, and so your distraught cycle repeats itself yet again. The cat had already heard the story, about how you’d gotten next to no sleep last night—finally finding a strike of muse and mistakenly staying up until almost four in the morning to write the wave out—and had to open the coffee shop at which you work at seven on the dot that same morning. Your crush, the one and only Lee Juyeon—a noteworthy bachelor in town whose presence wasn’t very welcomed, though his looks were practically revered—had entered the shop. Amidst your foggy, sleep-deprived state, you’d clumsily perfected his order, then proceeded to spill it down the front of his clothes.

It was a minor mishap. It wasn’t something that happened often, but it wasn’t something that one should trouble themselves over this much. Although, of course, one had to consider the fact that Juyeon being dashingly handsome, with strong features and a soft smile; as well as being your crush, were added factors that had to be considered in the equation.

The cat still found it ridiculous, as cats often do of human matters.

You push yourself into a sitting position again, with a bit more determination in your shoulders this time. The cat barely pauses its grooming session as you turn to address it, despite not needing to. “I need to go. I need to get some sleep before work tomorrow.”

Despite knowing that the outcome will be futile, you reach out slowly and attempt to stroke the cat with the back of your hand, as a final goodbye before the two of you meet again. But this time, the cat reacts to your proximity—instantaneously cutting its grooming session short by jumping to its feet and away from you. The feline cuts you a look, giving itself a shake, before it trots off.

It had been two weeks now, so you had been hopeful something had changed between you and the cat. But, cats were fickle creatures, and although your feline friend proved to be a good confidant and equally welcomed your silent company—that’s all it wanted at the moment, was some company. A part of you wondered if something kept the cat from being friendlier, even after you’d proven you weren’t going to push or rush any affection received, such as a trauma or unpleasant experience. You weren’t too certain that was the case, though, considering the cat wasn’t wary or scared—just indifferent.

“Get home safe,” is your last goodbye to the cat, spoken into the emptiness around you which is only broken up by the evening breeze whistling through the autumn leaves.

—

Thankfully, you get enough sleep that night. When you get home, the tiredness hits you like a giant wave, and there’s not even an ounce of temptation to continue your writing as there had been the night before. When the next day arrives, you’re much more bright-eyed and alert. Opening the coffee shop goes smooth, as does the passing of the first few customers you have.

After the first hour of being open, like clockwork, Juyeon walks through the door of the little cafe at eight. And, like clockwork, your coworker lets out a grunt under their breath and nudges you with their elbow.

“Can you take over the cash register?”

You frown, studying them, then glancing back at Juyeon as he slowly nears the counter. A few guests cut him unfriendly looks, others stare in awe. You should be used to this, by now, but you aren’t. Growing up in the city, you hadn’t realized what kind of bias there would be in smaller, more rural areas for Juyeon’s kind—as those around here called it. He practiced magic, which in the city was a common occurrence. Being so populated, it was easy to pass someone by and not really know whether they were a witch or a warlock. They were just simply human.

But here, it was like some sort of blight. Where witches and warlocks were far and few between, it was misunderstood, and thus not welcomed. People didn’t like change, or that which they didn’t understand.

If only people could be more like cats—indifferent to those things that surrounded them which caused no harm, despite how different it might be.

Your coworker hadn’t waited for your answer, disappearing, and you have no choice but to take over the cash register. Despite the repeated normalcy of this specific situation, it’s still something you really don’t think you’ll ever get used to.

Juyeon stops in front of the counter and studies the menu above, just as you step forward and wish him a good morning. He glances down at you, gives a small smile, and then glances back up at the menu. He’s been here enough times since you’d moved to town that you know he’ll order the same thing he gets every day. For some reason, though, he still likes to idle a bit and study the menu. Maybe because there’s seasonal flavors to consider trying, despite always defaulting to the comfort pick. Or maybe he’s buffering his mind for the day—a sentiment you felt you could relate to.

“Can I get my usual?” Juyeon asks, pulling his eyes away from the menu with another smile.

You return his smile, nodding. “Of course.”

Although you try to stay calm, you can hear your heart beating much too loudly in your chest, replaying the events from the day before in your head. You try not to outwardly cringe as the scene from yesterday replays itself in your mind; then try further to shut the memories out, though not visibly show your internal struggle—choosing to focus instead on the fact that despite not being weary-eyed that morning, your hand is shaking as you lift it to the register to punch in Juyeon’s order, and you need to make it stop.

It’s something that doesn’t go unnoticed by the regular customer, though you aren’t aware that he even does notice until you’re serving him his coffee. Your coworker has conveniently cooped themselves up in the back to clean and stock. That leaves you left alone to prepare Juyeon’s drink, and you’re grateful there isn’t a rush at that moment.

When you step up to the counter to call out his name and hand over the drink, you’re straining your arm to keep your hand from shaking too badly—paranoid over a repeat from yesterday. As he takes his drink with a smile and a thank you, his fingers brush over yours. You glance up in surprise at him, wondering if he even noticed the skin contact.

Meeting his gaze, you’re aware that he is, in fact, aware of what has happened. He softens his smile—if that’s even possible. His sharp features are always the softest when he comes in during the mornings and hands out smiles to the people around him. Despite the stark contrast of how the townsfolk treat Juyeon in comparison to how he treats them, you’ve never once seen the smile on his face falter.

“You don’t have to be nervous about yesterday,” he states kindly. “Accidents happen. Stop shaking so badly out of nerves, or you’ll really end up spilling my coffee again.”

A flush immediately over takes your face, and you pull your hand back like the snap of a rubber band—luckily Juyeon already has hold of his drink, or it would have come crashing down to the counter below.

“S-s-s-sorry— I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine, I’m only joking. Like I said, accidents happen, and clothes can be washed,” Juyeon chuckles. You swear the sound makes your heart seize up in your chest—but it’s a different kind of seize than the feeling your secret cat makes you feel. This feeling is one that makes time seem to stop moving itself; his soft laugh something akin to a toll bell—not quite high pitched enough to be a bell, but not deep enough to be something else.

“Although if you spilled drink on me two days in a row, I’d probably need you to join me for coffee at some point in order to make up for all the dry cleaning,” the joke falls from Juyeon’s lips with ease—and you can only stare at him in surprise as he offers you one last smile and makes his way to a corner of the coffee shop near the window, as he does every day.

Did… he just flirt?

You shake your head at the absurdity of the thought, though the rest of your work day is spent in a trance. Even when there is a callout halfway through your shift, just a few hours away before your freedom from work—you barely react. It’s just a hiccup, even if it means you’ll be working five hours extra. Juyeon’s words idly trail through your mind, enough to keep you in a daze. Luckily, despite your mind being focused elsewhere, nothing is spilled or broken that day and you make it through the shift safely; save for a few moments of tripping over your own two feet.

When closing time rolls around, you finally start to feel all the work of the day and your clumsiness in those same two feet. You’re practically dragging yourself over the threshold when you close up the coffee shop, locking the door behind you. When you turn to begin down the street for home and the comfort of your warm bed—you almost trip over your own two feet yet again.

Except, this time, it’s not by your own fault that you almost trip. Underfoot, the darkness of the night moves just as you stumble to catch yourself, and you startle in surprise. But then, a familiar pair of amber eyes turn and meet yours—and as your eyes adjust to the blackness, you recognize the outline of a little black cat.

“Kitty?” You wonder, surprise lacing your voice. The cat, as if replying, lets out something akin to a meow and an indignant sigh, as if to ask, How dare you trip over me?

The indignant meow-sigh-huff combo makes you smile, letting out a small laugh under your breath. Yes, it’s definitely your cat friend. But why is the cat so far from the fields at the outskirts of town, away from the maple tree? How did it wander so far? You’d always assumed the cat to be a farm cat, since you’d never seen it among the streets like this—which had you worry the feline may have wandered too far from home to find its way back. At night, nonetheless.

Crouching down, you reach out a hand to the cat, back of your hand facing the feline. “What are you doing all the way in town like this, kitty?”

As per usual, the cat backs away from your hand with a little jump, before scurrying off into the night. You let out a sigh, watching it meld with the shadows, before pushing yourself back to your feet.

“Okay, fine. I thought we were friends, but whatever. Just try and assist me in breaking my neck and then leave the scene of the almost-crime.” You give your head a shake, before turning away from the coffee shop and making your way home.

The evening is colder than it has been in the past few nights. As you walk, you snuggle down a little deeper into your coat, surprised by the chill. It’s sharp enough to cut against more sensitive places of your body—like your nose, ears, and cheeks—but not quite deeply cutting in the way that the cold of winter is. This chill doesn’t seep into the depths of your bones and create an ache. It’s just cold enough to make you want to curl up on your couch with a cup of warm tea before bed, but still admire how there’s a warmth to the season overall despite the weather.

It doesn’t take long before a black flash cuts across in front of you. You slow your steps slightly, having set a brisk pace to simply get yourself home quicker, so you weren’t out at night for too long. Your shadowy friend darting back and forth is enough to keep you from walking too fast, though, worried you might trip and fall, and ultimately hurt yourself or the cat. But as you pick your pace up again, the black feline settles into a trot alongside you, weaving close to the walls of the buildings which you walk next to.

“Are you walking me home?” You muse to the cat. “Feel guilty for almost tripping me in the dark?”

You know the cat can’t understand your humor, and likely doesn’t have a conscience enough to feel guilty about such a thing, but it feels nice to talk to someone as you walk. Again—you seek comfort in the feline companion for the fact that you can voice your thoughts aloud, without expecting a reply. It’s also nice to have company on your walk home. Despite the small town being safe, and the streetlamps lighting the way, walking alone at night was an uncomfortable event. Having grown up in the city, you’d been taught to never wander the streets alone at night. It was strange to do so here.

“Lee Juyeon, the warlock that I’ve told you about, came in to work again today. I didn’t spill his order all over him today,”  you smile, glancing at the little black shadow that meanders next to you. “You should be proud of me.”

Slowing your pace, you come to a halt. “Do you ever wonder why people treat him differently?” You ask the cat. For a moment, you think, before sighing, “Wait, you probably don’t even know. You’re a cat, after all. How would you realize that he’s being treated differently just because he can practice magic. Heck, you probably don’t even know who Juyeon is.”

Or, maybe the cat did, considering you’d seen Juyeon feed the neighborhood strays outside the coffee shop before.

The thought has you pulling your eyes back to your cat companion. Ahead of you, the animal pulls itself away from the wall and sidles its way into the center of the street. It keeps walking, which prompts you to resume your pace in order to catch up to the cat.

“Anyway, he does magic. A warlock. In the city, witches and warlocks are common. Magic is a lot more accepted where I come from, even though there are rules and restrictions to practicing in order to keep non-magic users safe. Maybe that’s why rural areas and small towns don’t like it, there’s no one to really keep watch and create rules,” you sigh, then wonder why the heck you’re explaining this to a cat. “But still, he’s just simply a human. My coworker doesn’t even want to breathe the same air as him. Isn’t that ridiculous…?”

Much like you do under the maple tree, you ramble to the cat as though it were any other day. It feels kind of nice to have the cat’s company and be able to walk home with someone, even if that someone weren’t quite human. Though you might appear strange to anyone else who might see you chatting into the darkness, you aren’t alone that night—a comfort which you appreciate not only because it’s dark, but also after such a long and grueling day. It allows you to keep your mind away from the dreadful thoughts you might have. Talking to the cat had also become a routine, and though you hadn’t been able to dwell much on the idea of missing out on the almost-daily routine thanks to how busy the coffee shop had gotten in the afternoon, you realize now what it means.

As you near the corner of your street, the cat slows down just ahead of you, sensing a change in your demeanor. Your stomach growls just as you’re about to round the corner the cat is stopped at, causing you to glance down in surprise. Then, you glance at the feline, before lifting your gaze up to glance over your shoulder. Just across the street, lighting up the entire corner—something you’d always been grateful for, living alone—sits a little 24-Hour corner shop. You have food at home that you can heat up quickly, but you remember that your cat friend has wandered into town from the farms, and possibly hasn’t eaten. There’s probably an abundance of mice to catch, if the cat were to look well enough, but you feel guilty after realizing how far the animal had followed you.

And, unfortunately, it wasn’t likely with your current track record that the cat would want to join you inside for the night.

“Wait here,” you instruct the cat, not even sure if it’ll listen. You dart across the street and push your way into the warmth of the little corner shop. The attendant startles in surprise at your entrance, having not expected a customer so late on a fairly chilly night, most likely.

“Do you have cat food?” You ask, and the bleary-eyed boy behind the counter points off in a corner of the shop. You follow his direction to the aisle he points out, wandering down and eyeing the shelves lined with canned and bagged food and treats for all different kinds of pets. You pick out a can of shrimp flavored canned food, remembering that the cat you’d grown up with at home had enjoyed shrimp-flavored things, before heading back to the front of the store to pay for it.

Surprisingly enough, the black cat is there waiting for you as you exit the store—still across the street. You smile, as you near, watching as the cat’s tail tip flicks where it's curled on the ground, rustling a leaf just within reach. Each time its tail does so, causing the leaf to move, the silly little cat swipes at the leaf—and its own tail. And each time, the cat looks offended as it pulls its paw back.

“I have food,” you announce your presence to the cat, so as not to startle it too much out of its little game. As you near, you pull open the can lid, bending down and setting the can on the ground. Knowing the cat will run if you extend your hand, you slowly inch the can forward with your finger tips, watching as the cat slowly inches itself back on its butt in surprise. When your hand returns to yourself, the cat stares at the opened can of food, before bending over just enough to strain its neck to reach out and sniff.

With a sharp flick of its tail, it huffs and turns, trotting off into the darkness.

Your jaw falls open in surprise. “Wow! Rude! That was two dollars!”

Frowning, you glance back at the can of food, then up again where the cat disappeared into the night. Either the cat was extremely spoiled and wasn’t actually a farm cat as you’d thought, feasting on mice—or the animal just wasn’t hungry. Somehow you doubted the latter, as it seemed like quite a journey from the edge of town to your place for a little four-legged creature. Surely any animal would be just a bit hungry after wandering around for hours, right?

Straightening yourself up, you call out into the darkness, “I’m leaving this here, then—in case you change your mind!” But your words are met with silence, and there isn’t even the breeze of the autumn wind whistling through the trees to fill the void of the night.

Parting ways with the darkness and its feline voidling, you finally round the corner and head the last few feet up the street to the warmth of your home.

—

When you wake the next morning, there’s not an immediate rush through your morning. You don’t work until a bit later in the afternoon. This means you’re able to sleep in, enjoy the warmth and comfort of your bed and burrow yourself further down under the duvet as the morning light streams through the curtains, casting even more warmth over you as it filters through the glass window. When it comes time to finally pull yourself out of bed, you shower and brush your teeth, brew a pot of coffee for yourself, and set to work at your laptop for a couple hours to get some writing out.

It’s at this time that a repeated rapping catches your attention, and when you glance up from your laptop—pulling your eyes away from the white light of the screen and squinting—you’re surprised to see a black shadow at your window, two amber eyes peering through a frame of the glass intently.

“What the—? Kitty?”

Hearing your voice, the cat stands up from crouching on the sill, butting its body against the window and letting out a loud meow. You’re fairly certain this is the first time the cat has answered you in such a blatantly obvious tone, which has you excitedly pushing yourself to your feet and rushing over to the window. In the entire time it takes you to cross your bedroom to the window, the cat continues to meow, pacing back and forth along the sill and butting itself against the glass. The cat’s tail curls, waving about languidly.

“Good morning,” you greet, pulling the window up and open for your friend. “What are you doing here? Did you sleep outside on the street last night?”

With more room on the window sill, the cat sits, pointedly fixating its gaze on you. Curiously, you present the back of your hand to the cat, holding it up between the two of you. This is the closest you’ve ever been to the creature, but that doesn’t mean you’re quite out of the woods just yet.

It takes everything within you, though, to hold back the gasp of surprise when the cat leans forward just a bit to sniff you, cold nose pressing against the back of your hand and whiskers grazing across your skin.

“Can I pet you?” You wonder, turning your hand over slowly and reaching behind the cat—but, as fickle as ever, the cat lets out another meow and turns before you can even so much as put your hand onto its fur, dropping down from the window sill. The most touch you get from the interaction is its tail swiping your arm as it turns and jumps down—which, honestly, still leaves you grinning after the cat.

“Wait there again,” you instruct the cat, closing the window. Not waiting for an answer from the feline, who seems a bit chatty that morning, you make your way out of your bedroom—pausing momentarily to grab your coffee mug—before heading to the kitchen. You wonder if the cat is hungry, mentally noting you don’t have cat food, which is why you had bought it last night, before reminding yourself that it didn’t seem to like the canned food anyway.

Fish? No, you’d have to go to the market for that. If you ate fish, you typically cooked it immediately rather than let it sit in your freezer. What else could cats eat? “Chicken…?” You wonder aloud, opening your fridge and eyeing the leftover container of some grilled chicken you’d had the night before.

“It’s a bird, cats like bird meat.” Giving yourself a small shrug, you pull the container from the fridge and open it. It takes a few moments to shred it down to something a bit more manageable to chew with your fingers, before you pop it in the microwave to nuke it a bit. You didn’t mind cold chicken, but assuming the cat had spent the night outside, you figure a little warmth in its belly would be nice.

As though sensing your intentions, when you open the front door, the black cat is sitting expectantly on the porch, staring up at the door. Its tail swipes across the wood deck lazily, seemingly unbothered by having had to wait.

“It’s not much, since I don’t really know what to feed a cat that’s okay and I don’t keep cat food… not that you appreciated it last night…” You scoff, before setting down the container on the porch in front of the cat. “But here’s some breakfast for you. Or brunch now, I suppose.”

This food smells much more interesting than the canned cat food, and the feline doesn’t hesitate to step forward and crouch down in front of the leftover container, immediately gobbling up the grilled chicken you’d shredded. You smile, watching with relief as the animal eats. You really weren’t sure at this point if the cat was a farmcat after all, a stray, or simply a spoiled wanderer—but not knowing where the animal had been overnight, and seeing it eat now after refusing food last night put your mind at ease.

You watch the cat eat in silence, making yourself comfortable and sitting back against the doorframe of your open front door. Every now and again, you sip your coffee, glance up at the street and off into the distance where you can see the rolling hills of the countryside, before looking back down at the cat. When your feline friend finishes its meal, it lays back on your porch, grooming itself in content—then moving off to a warm patch of sun and curling into a ball on your deck. Deciding you don’t want to waste this precious moment, you clean up the container before grabbing your laptop, and setting up shop on the deck for a few more hours before work, writing alongside the silent company of your tiny visitor.

“Okay, I have to go to work,” you announce after a few hours have passed, not entirely sure why you’re detailing this to the cat. If it really was a stray, it would probably remove itself from your company whenever. Or, you’d return home after work to it having disappeared again. The thought made you wistful—maybe even a bit sad. This had been the first you’d ever had the cat’s extended company and attention for, and you were growing quite used to it.

To your surprise, when it actually is time to leave for work, the cat begins to follow you after you’ve closed and locked up your little house. You let out an amused half smile, watching as the cat follows alongside you. “What, are you my chauffeur now?”

The walk to work that day is infinitely more amusing than all the other times you’d walked the same path. You don’t have much to ramble to your companion about that day, though you do mention that you wonder if Juyeon will pop in at the coffee shop in the afternoon. Typically, he was a morning coffee person, but you’d seen him stop by in the evenings once in a while. Instead of talking as you walk, though, you watch as the cat darts ahead of you every once in a while—chasing a stray leaf on the breeze and pouncing after it down the street until it lies motionless on the ground. Sometimes, the cat lags behind, and you find yourself glancing over your shoulder to see what curiosities it's getting itself into—jumping on a fence to tease a dog, sniffing around at certain things on the path, or slinking down close to the ground and acting as if it’s hunting nothing in particular, before darting ten feet ahead of you at a run and waiting for you to catch up.

“Don’t stay out here for too long tonight,” you warn the cat, pausing outside the coffee shop. “This street gets busy on weekends, someone might not see you…” You didn’t want to imagine the poor cat getting lost in the crowd. The coffee shop was in the center of a small village shopping square, and on weekend evenings it filled up with families and others sharing date nights and evening events together. You frown, wondering if the cat will listen, before giving the animal a small little wave and heading inside.

When you set to work, you can’t help but find yourself glancing out the window periodically—taking mental stock of the cat through your shift. Each time you go to clean a table, you peer out the window and see the cat either peering right back in at your, or napping somewhere nearby. Every time you call out someone’s order, you push yourself onto your tiptoes to glance over the customer’s shoulder as they near, mentally noting every spot the little black shape outside moves to. If a new customer enters the shop, you greet them and take their order, and before the transaction finishes you ask in a quiet voice if there’s a cat outside still—relieved when a customer confirms they’d seen one lounging about.

Halfway through your shift, your cat friend disappears from the view of the window, and a small panic sets in. You notice as you’re taking an order for a couple of guests, two people who can’t seem to settle on their decision and keep talking over each other as they tell you what they want. They aren’t the type of people to inquire about the cat outside, especially since it seems as though they’ve popped into the coffee shop for an afternoon pick-me-up to help settle some of their irritation. Yet as you speak with them, and punch in their order, you can’t help your eyes darting off to the side now and again to try and peek around them and out the window.

“Can you take over the register for a bit?” You ask of your coworker almost as soon as the two chatty, indecisive guests walk away. You don’t wait for them to reply—considering they always drop the same on you without warning. It’s rare of you to return the “favor,” but you don’t feel guilty doing so.

As you move around the counter, you grab a tray and a cleaning rag in order to clean some tables, eyes never leaving the window as you do so.

“Was that your cat? The one outside?” Your coworker asks, scoffing. “Should take better care of it.”

You scowl, eyes snapping back to your coworker, who shrinks in surprise at the ferocity of your gaze. “No it’s not. It’s a stray that followed me, and I’m worried.” As you turn away from them, you grumble under your breath, “You have a nasty habit of assuming the worst of people.”

As you near the window, searching for the black furry shadow outside, your eyes are so fixated you barely register the door of the shop opening and the lackluster greeting being called out by your coworker. In fact, you’re so out of it that, as you move, you practically stumble straight into a wall of body that had just entered the shop. You stumble back in surprise, realizing that you’ve almost walked straight into a customer, glancing up to apologize—and blanching when you realize it’s Juyeon.

“S-sorry!”

Juyeon smiles in greeting. “It’s fine,” he answers, before glancing over his shoulder outside, then back down at you. “Are you okay?”

“I— yeah… I just—” You frown. “Nevermind, it’s nothing. What can I get for you today?” Sparing one last glance at the window, you move back toward the counter, eyeing your coworker as they move away and disappear, refusing as always to take the young warlock’s order.

“Can I sit at the bartop today?” Juyeon asks, trailing after you. You glance over your shoulder at him in surprise, before nodding.

“Let me take your order and then you can take a seat.”

“I’d like a mochachino today.”

You punch in the order, looking at him in surprise. “Chocolate?”

Juyeon smiles that soft smile that always seems to leave you winded and out of breath. “Craving something sweet, but I’ve got some work to do, so I need something that will keep me awake, too.”

You nod, letting out a hum of understanding from the back of your throat. When you read the total off to him, Juyeon pays the appropriate amount, and you wave him to the bartop just to the left of the cash register. His presence at the bartop is almost certain to keep your coworker from ever returning to the front of house, so you silently hope that no sudden rush comes through the cafe as you set to work making his drink.

“Why did you seem so distracted when I came in earlier?” Juyeon asks, tone of voice idle. You glance over your shoulder, away from the espresso machine, in surprise when he speaks. Had he always been this chatty? Although, to be fair, Juyeon always came in during the morning rushes and you never had a chance to actually talk to him.

You aren’t sure what really catches you by surprise—the fact that he’s making conversation with you, or the fact that his deep voice has caused your heart to begin a rapid and stuttering beat in your chest. Yet, somehow, despite your nervousness to be talking to a young man you’d always admired from your own little corner of the coffee shop, and how he gazed out the window and watched the world in silent content and admiration, and offered up sweet and soft smiles to everyone around him—his voice also fills you with a warmth that’s almost soothing. Like the familiar smell of the coffee grounds that waft through the shop daily, then later cling to the strands of your hair when you get home. It feels familiar.

“Are you really okay?” He asks, prompting again.

“I’m fine. I was just worried… there was a cat outside. It followed me to and from work yesterday and today, and now that it’s getting busy I’m wondering where it went off to and if it’s okay. I feel responsible even though it might be a stray that just followed me for its own amusement,” you explain as you work.

When you finish Juyeon’s order, you turn and set it on the counter in front of him. He smiles, as always, and takes it with a polite and soft thank you, before leveling you with his gaze.

When his eyes land on you, almost instantly you feel your heart seize up in your chest. You’ve never been this close to Juyeon before—never actually gotten a good look at him up close. His features from afar are stunning; he’s handsome in a very simple way that’s easy on the eyes. But up close, it’s almost as if he’s crafted from marble. You’ve never had a chance to admire his sharp features; study the lines of his jaw and his high-placed cheekbones, notice the square shape of his earlobes, or admire his long and straight nose or the way his lips curl upward slightly at the corners.

“Cats are street smart, you know. I’m sure your little stray friend is fine. They probably know these streets better than the both of us,” Juyeon replies, “And luckily for them, people in this town are a little kinder to stray cats than other types of strays.”

It’s then that you meet his gaze, catching on to a deeper implication of his words—studying his almond-shaped brown eyes and taking note of the curious amber flecks that hit the warm yellow light of the cafe just right.

“No way,” you breathe out.

Juyeon smiles—and this time, his smile isn’t the usual soft and kind one, but one that pushes his cheeks up in a way that causes his eyes to smile along with the rest of his face. He seems much too amused by the realization setting across your face, followed by a flush that follows soon after. You’d ranted and rambled about Lee Juyeon to Lee Juyeon—albeit not the human one.

You’d heard that some witches and warlocks could shapeshift, and that others had familiars. Never once in your life did you think you’d somehow be on the receiving end of that gift. Of course, it made sense, considering the treatment around town that Juyeon often received—that he’d either hide in another form or test the honesty of those he interacted with in a different form.