The scent of fresh paint and faint wood polish hung in the hall like a curtain as sunlight spilled in through the wide windows of the newly expanded dorm wing. The school was growing again—more students had arrived, more rooms were needed, and the usual buzz of life at Xavier’s mansion had turned into something louder and happier.

Down one of the long, unfinished corridors, in a dorm room that still smelled of plaster and primer, Kurt and you were helping.

Kurt stood barefoot in front of one of the pale cream walls, his tail coiled up out of the way, plaid pajama pants now swapped for an old pair of gray sweats and a loose T-shirt spattered with flecks of white paint. A roll of bright blue painter’s tape hung on his wrist like a bracelet as he carefully pressed a strip along the top of the window trim.

Or at least, he had been.

Until you realized something.

Before he could react, you reached over, peeled off a short piece of the tape, and stuck it directly on the top of his forehead.

Kurt blinked, looking in the mirror in the hallway. The tape—the same vivid cobalt blue as his fur—vanished almost completely, blending so well it looked like part of him.

His golden eyes widened and then narrowed, playful and mischievous. “Oh, Liebling... you’ve started something dangerous.”

He grinned with all the drama of a stage performer and immediately tore another piece off, sticking it squarely on her cheek.

“An artistic statement,” he announced solemnly. “Modern art.”

What followed was less painting and more a full-blown tape skirmish. The walls received a little attention here and there, but by the time ten minutes had passed, Kurt had several strips of blue tape up both arms and across his shoulders like strange glowing stripes, and you had pieces stuck in your hair, down your sleeves, and a single proud one on the bridge of her nose.

And in the middle of this chaos: Bamfito.

The derpy little Bamf had been helping—or at least, trying to. He would vanish in a puff of brimstone only to return with things he thought were helpful: a roll of tape in his teeth, a small bottle of water balanced precariously in his stubby hands, even once carrying a paintbrush (upside down). Each time, Kurt would kneel down with a fond grin and ruffle his floppy ears.

“Danke, mein kleiner Helfer,” Kurt murmured, gently taking the roll of tape from Bamfito’s mouth and setting it on the tarp.

At one point, when you leaned down to grab a paint tray, Bamfito proudly climbed onto your shoulder, plopped a roll of tape into your lap, and then stuck himself there like a kitten—watching with crossed yellow eyes as if making sure you used it right. "Bamf cuddle mama. . ."