The Mau The Merrier

>:33 | *Feline Curiosity: Laser Keychain*

The warmth of the room was stifling in its stillness, and {Y/N} found herself teetering in that fragile space between awake and asleep. She wasn’t dreaming—not fully—but she wasn’t entirely aware of the dim hum of her apartment, either. It was a nice reprieve, the sort of quiet her overactive mind rarely allowed her to enjoy.

Then came the knocking. 

The sharp rap-tap-tap! on her front door jolted her, eyes snapping open with a groggy groan. At first, she ignored it, squeezing her eyes shut as if sheer willpower could make the intruder go away. But the knocking persisted, growing louder and more insistent. 

“{Y/N}!” A familiar voice called from the other side. “I know you’re in there! Your lights are on! Come on, open up! Please?” 

She let out a guttural growl, her fingers curling into the arm of her recliner. She didn’t need to see who it was to know. Joe. Of course, it was Joe. It was always Joe.

“{Y/N}!” He knocked again, this time accompanied by a dramatic plea. “Please, my arm’s gonna fall off! Help a guy out!” 

“Unbelievable…” she muttered, forcing herself upright. She stomped to the door, each step heavier than the last, and yanked it open with more force than necessary. 

Joe stood there, grinning from ear to ear like a kid that got allowed cookies before dinner. He was juggling what appeared to be a platter in one hand and several reusable grocery bags draped across his other arm. The bags dug harshly into his skin, leaving angry red marks, but he didn’t seem too fazed. 

“Finally!” he exclaimed, his grin widening. “Can I come in now? These bags are murdering my arm.” 

{Y/N} raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms as her eyes flicked to the platter. It was quite large and sliver, obviously quite heavy with the way Joe's arm was trembling, and its contents were obscured by the height difference between her and Joe. She was almost too curious to stay annoyed. 

“Uh… sure,” she said reluctantly, stepping aside. “Come on in, pal…” 

He waltzed past her without hesitation, heading straight for her coffee table. With a dramatic flourish, he set the platter down first, followed by the bags. Once unburdened, he flexed his arm with a wince, rubbing at the red lines with his other hand. “Oof, that was rough.” 

Her eyes landed on the now-revealed platter, and her breath hitched. It was stunning—an intricate arrangement of sashimi: vibrant pink slices of salmon, deep red beef, glistening tuna, and even a few exotic cuts she couldn’t identify right away. It looked like something out of a five-star restaurant. 

“What… What is all this for?” she asked, gesturing vaguely at the table now loaded with goodies. 

Joe flashed her a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I noticed you weren’t feeling great today.” 

Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” 

“At Beans and Things, you only swore at one guy,” he explained, holding up a single finger. “And you didn’t even beat anyone over the head with a bag of coffee grounds. That’s not like you.” 

A surprised laugh burst from her lips, despite herself. “Wow. Great review of my normal behavior, thanks. Y'know, maybe I was just feeling merciful today.” 

“I’m serious!” he said, his tone softening. “You didn’t seem like yourself. You looked more… pained than angry. And your eyes didn’t have their normal spark. It worried me, {Y/N}. You’re my little master and my best friend. I hate seeing you like that.”