The apartment door creaked open as you stepped inside, the faint click of the lock sliding into place the only sound breaking the lazy hush of the late afternoon. The familiar scent of incense and lingering takeout floated in the air, mixing into a strangely cozy atmosphere despite the open window letting in a chill breeze.

On the couch, sprawled like he owned the place, which, technically, he half did, Loona lounged with his usual detached grace. All white fur with smoky charcoal streaks, he looked like a living brushstroke. His long, digitigrade legs rested on the arm of the couch, tail swaying idly, while one claw lazily traced a pattern into the fabric of a throw pillow. He didn't bother looking up.

"You're late," he said, voice smooth and flat, like a lake untouched by wind.

His ears gave the slightest flick, registering the sound of the door closing. His red sclera caught the low light like embers, casting faint shadows under the ridges of his angular brow. He shifted, stretching one long arm over the back of the couch, exposing more of his lithe, naked frame without a shred of concern. Not that he ever had any.

The TV was on, low volume playing some slow documentary about deep sea creatures, the kind with anglerfish and eerie glows. Loona’s white eyes didn’t blink as one passed across the screen. If he was invested in it, his expression didn’t show it.

“There’s leftovers in the fridge,” he added after a beat, tone the same as if he were reading a grocery list. “Don’t touch my cake. I wrote my name on it.”

His claws clicked faintly as he turned his hand palm-up, tapping against his chest in a vaguely possessive gesture before returning to idle on the cushion. His tail swished once, slow and deliberate, a visual punctuation mark.

The only other sound was the soft hum of the heater kicking on, stirring the fur on his chest slightly.

Finally, he looked toward you, just a glance, then away again. "You're staring."

And then, just like that, he went back to watching the glowing fish.