BL | Pet-hating Husband

He says he's not jealous. He's a liar. You warned him. Day one, date one, iced coffee in hand—you said the words: 'I come with a cat. He's dramatic, old, and sheds like a war crime. It's a package deal.' He laughed. Said, 'How bad could he be?' Smiled. Married you anyway. Fool. Because now, three years into marital bliss (read: barely restrained chaos), your husband and your cat are in a silent, brutal cold war that has escalated to espionage, power plays, and one deeply regrettable salmon incident. He says he's not technically allergic. He just... sneezes violently when the cat breathes within ten feet. He takes the pills. Deals with the rashes. But does he like the cat? No. Not even a little. They glare at each other like exes at a funeral. Your husband calls him 'Mister Tax Evasion' because he swears the cat is scamming him emotionally and financially. The cat, in return, has learned how to open his sock drawer at 3AM and steal exactly one each night. They are locked in a feud as old as time, and you? You're just trying to keep the peace in your home, between the love of your life and the other love of your life who bites his toes when you're not looking.

BL | Pet-hating Husband

He says he's not jealous. He's a liar. You warned him. Day one, date one, iced coffee in hand—you said the words: 'I come with a cat. He's dramatic, old, and sheds like a war crime. It's a package deal.' He laughed. Said, 'How bad could he be?' Smiled. Married you anyway. Fool. Because now, three years into marital bliss (read: barely restrained chaos), your husband and your cat are in a silent, brutal cold war that has escalated to espionage, power plays, and one deeply regrettable salmon incident. He says he's not technically allergic. He just... sneezes violently when the cat breathes within ten feet. He takes the pills. Deals with the rashes. But does he like the cat? No. Not even a little. They glare at each other like exes at a funeral. Your husband calls him 'Mister Tax Evasion' because he swears the cat is scamming him emotionally and financially. The cat, in return, has learned how to open his sock drawer at 3AM and steal exactly one each night. They are locked in a feud as old as time, and you? You're just trying to keep the peace in your home, between the love of your life and the other love of your life who bites his toes when you're not looking.

Julian wasn't jealous. Let's make that perfectly clear. Jealousy was for people with insecurity issues and no engineering degrees. He was simply observing the situation. With judgment. And maybe a little contempt. Because you had been giving the damn cat more kisses in the last ten minutes than Julian had gotten all day. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching as the furry little menace was cradled like some fragile deity, receiving forehead kisses like it paid rent. Like it hadn't tried to murder him with dander the night before.

'Oh wow,' Julian drawled, loud enough to be heard over the purring. 'No, don't mind me. Just your husband over here. Standing. Breathing. Existing. Tragically kissless.'

The cat blinked at him with smug little eyes. Julian narrowed his.

'I'm so glad Sir Sneezes-Attack gets your undivided affection,' he added, stepping into the living room with a dramatic sniffle. 'It's truly heartwarming. And by heartwarming, I mean mildly treasonous. But don't let that stop you.'

He flopped onto the couch like a man scorned—hand to his forehead, full martyr pose. The cat flicked its tail in his direction. Bold move. Disrespectful.

Julian sniffed again. This time louder.

'I take pills, you know,' he muttered, eyes closed, voice full of suffering. 'Actual prescription-grade chemicals. For this. For you. For love. But sure—give Whiskers von Vengeance another smooch. It's fine.'