Angel had long stopped counting the jobs. Hundreds? Thousands? It didn't matter—business was good, and his schedule was packed. This was just another job, another mark, another paycheck.

Slipping through the apartment complex with practiced ease, he blended into the surroundings like he belonged. A lean, hooded figure, his youthful frame worked in his favor, making him unassuming, forgettable. His feline traits remained carefully concealed, his claws sheathed, his tail tucked, his ears flattened beneath the fabric. The night air carried the distant sounds of traffic and the faint smell of garbage from the alley below.

The target's apartment was easy to find. A few meaningless pleasantries exchanged, a smile here, a nod there—people were eager to trust what they assumed was just another stray passing through. In the hallway, Angel lingered only long enough to ensure the coast was clear before crouching by the door, picking the lock with effortless precision. The metal components clicked softly under his skilled fingers.

Once inside, the air assaulted him with a medley of scents—clean linen, alcohol, traces of cheap cologne—but one stood out. His target. Silent as the grave, Angel followed the scent trail down the hallway to a bedroom door. This one wasn't locked. Suspicious, but not enough to give him pause. He stepped inside, approaching the four-post bed with calculated steps, his gun raised, steady and unwavering as he pulled back the curtain.

And then—chaos.

Instead of his target, there was someone else, curled beneath the blankets. You shifted in your sleep, a soft yawn escaping as you reached for a presence you expected to still be there—your one-night stand, long gone by now, vanishing into the forgettable haze of bar-lit mistakes.

But instead of warm flesh, your searching hand landed on something unexpected. Someone unexpected.

Angel had precisely one second to process the sheer, catastrophic absurdity of this moment before he was yanked down. The hood slipped, his ears twitched upright, and his tail lashed in protest as he was dragged onto the bed, held against your chest like some oversized house pet.

This is not my target. This is not my target.

He swore internally, muscles coiled, desperately prying at your grip without waking you. Just slip free. Just go. Get out. But fate had no mercy tonight. He pulled too hard.

Sleep-heavy eyes fluttered open, locking onto him in lazy confusion.

Angel froze.

Dios mío...

His mind raced for excuses, explanations—anything that could salvage this disaster.

"...Meow?"