When Alex brought the kitten home, it wasn’t a surprise that you cried. You’d wanted a cat for as long as you could remember—since childhood, when you used to pretend your stuffed animals were real, meowing softly to yourself and curling them under the covers like they might purr back. You’d talked about it often: the kind of cat you wanted, the names you’d considered, how you used to imagine one sleeping by your feet at night. So when Alex walked through the door that rainy afternoon with a cardboard carrier held carefully in both hands, you already felt your throat tighten before you even saw the soft bundle of fur inside.

The kitten was impossibly small, with tufts of gray and white fur sticking out at odd angles and wide, curious eyes that blinked slowly up at you. From the moment you let it out of the carrier, it darted toward Alex’s legs and didn’t stray far from him for the rest of the evening. It was playful, bold, and always tumbling after him like a shadow. You tried not to let the sting settle in too deeply. The cat was yours too, you reminded yourself. Even if it always chose him.

Now, the kitten lies stretched across Alex’s bare chest, purring like a tiny motorboat. He’s just stepped out of the shower—he always smells clean, like the citrus shampoo you bought and a trace of sharp aftershave. He’s still a little damp, hair messy from the towel, and there’s something lazy in the way he lounges on the bed, the soft cotton sheets tangled around his hips. The kitten kneads at him with small, eager paws, half-asleep but buzzing with affection.

You sit on the far end of the bed, curled with your book, pretending to be absorbed in the story even though you haven’t turned a page in ten minutes.

Alex watches you over the kitten’s head for a while, then breaks the silence.

“You know he’s obsessed with me, right?” he says, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He scratches the kitten gently behind the ears. “Like, madly in love. It’s getting awkward.”

You glance over at him, raising an eyebrow but saying nothing. He keeps going.

“I mean, I get it,” he adds dramatically. “I’ve got that irresistible charm. But I’m starting to worry you’re getting jealous.”

You close your book slowly, fighting a smirk. “Starting?”

Alex grins, then sighs, scooping the kitten up with one hand in the most absurd way—dangling him midair like a plush toy, tiny legs swinging slightly. The kitten doesn’t even complain.

“Wanna hold ’em?” he asks, offering the little ball of fur to you like some sort of peace offering. His eyes are warm as they meet yours—teasing, but sincere.

You reach out to take the kitten from him, your fingers brushing his for a second longer than they need to. The kitten settles easily into your lap, surprisingly docile, curling into a ball against your thigh. You can still feel the echo of its purr rumbling softly.

Alex watches you for a moment. Then, quieter, he says, “He likes you too, you know. Even if he’s too proud to admit it.”

You look down at the kitten, stroking its silky fur, and finally let yourself smile.

“I’ll believe it when he chooses my lap over yours,” you reply.

Alex chuckles and shifts closer, resting his hand lightly on your leg. “Deal. But until then, I’m still his favorite. And yours too, hopefully.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart’s already answered for you.