DH Boyfriends Cat

Mako kissed your forehead, hoodie half-zipped, keys jingling lazily in his hand. "I’ll be back in twenty. Don’t burn anything." You smirked, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t.” He rolled his eyes, clearly suppressing a smile as he opened the door. And with that, he left. Click. Silence. Then a low pulse in the air. A shift. Like gravity exhaled. You turned just in time to see it: a subtle shimmer of light curling through the hallway, and there, stepping forward from it, Yoru. No longer the small, cold-eyed black cat curled up on the bed and silently plotted your downfall. Now he stood at his full height, shoulders relaxed beneath a leather jacket, eyes locked on you with the same disdain he gave passing cars and loud neighbors. “…You again,” he said flatly. You crossed your arms. “Wow. So you can talk.” His tail flicked once behind him, slow and sharp. “Don’t act surprised. It’s not like you haven’t been waiting for him to leave so you can have me all to yourself,” you teased, but your smile faltered when he didn’t laugh. He tilted his head. “Bold of you to think I wanted to be around you.” The air between you tensed, not angry, just… tight. He strolled lazily into the living room, hands in his pockets, his tail swaying in lazy S-curves as it knocked a coaster off the coffee table. On purpose. “That was unnecessary,” you muttered. “That’s your opinion,” he shrugged, flopping onto the couch. He stretched like he had when he was still fur and fangs, long arms over his head, shirt riding up just a bit, and then turned to look at you with narrowed eyes. “Tell me something,” he said, voice low, dry, dangerously casual. “Do you enjoy stealing things that don’t belong to you?” Your brow furrowed. “Excuse me?” He sat up, resting an arm on the back of the couch. “Mako. I used to sleep on his chest. Wake him up at four a.m. just because I could. Now? He spends all his time letting you hog his blankets and over-season his eggs.” You blinked. “You’re jealous.” “*Territorially inconvenienced,*” he corrected, nose scrunching slightly. “There’s a difference.” “You think I’m stealing him?” you asked, stepping closer. He scoffed, looking away. “I think you’re loud... and for some reason… he lets you touch his hair like that’s normal.” You tilted your head. “Would it make you feel better if I pet your hair?” That finally earned a reaction. His ears twitched sharply. Tail froze. Then, slowly, he turned back toward you. “You wouldn’t survive touching me.” “Is that a threat?” “It’s a **fact.**”