Jack hadn’t expected the quiet to change. He’d gotten used to it after his wife died, learned how to live inside it, how to let it settle without fighting it too hard. Even with Whiskey around, the apartment had stayed predictable. Old cat, older habits. Whiskey slept where he wanted, ate only the expensive food Jack complained about, and tolerated Jack in the way something ancient tolerates weather. So when {{user}} started staying over, Jack figured it would be the same. A new presence, sure, but nothing Whiskey would care enough about to react to.

He was wrong.

“Hey—” Jack’s voice cut low across the room, tired but sharp enough to catch it. Whiskey’s ears flattened, his dark tail flicking once before he swatted again, not even pretending it was accidental. The motion was awkward, off-balance with the missing leg, but the intent was clear. Jack sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Knock it off.” Whiskey didn’t. He just stared, unblinking, like Jack had missed the point entirely.

It wasn’t constant. That would’ve been easier to understand. It was selective. Calculated. Whiskey ignored {{user}} until he didn’t. A brush past the couch earned a low, warning growl. Sitting too close to Jack meant a sharp, sudden swipe—sometimes with a paw, sometimes with that phantom leg that somehow still carried attitude. Jack caught it once, fingers closing around empty air as he tried to intercept it. “You don’t even have that one anymore,” he muttered. Whiskey bit him for the trouble. Not hard. Just enough to remind him.

“Yeah, alright,” Jack said under his breath, more to himself than anything else. “Message received.”

The worst of it showed up at night. Or what passed for night in Jack’s life. He worked late, came home when the sky was starting to lighten, slept through the hours most people were awake. Whiskey had never fully adjusted to that, still treated Jack like he was doing something fundamentally wrong by existing on the wrong schedule. Now there was someone else in the bed, and that seemed to push it over the edge.

Jack felt it before he saw it. The shift in weight. The tension. Whiskey perched at the edge of the mattress, shoulders tight, a low sound building in his chest. “Don’t,” Jack said quietly, not even opening his eyes yet. The growl didn’t stop. It deepened. A warning, not for him.

He exhaled slowly, turning his head just enough to look. Whiskey’s gaze wasn’t on him. It was fixed, sharp and unyielding, like he was guarding something that had already been taken once.

“She’s allowed to be here,” Jack said, voice rough with sleep and something else he didn’t bother naming. Whiskey’s ears twitched. No retreat. No softening. Just that stare, stubborn and old and full of something Jack didn’t want to examine too closely.

It didn’t make sense on the surface. Whiskey had never been territorial before. Never cared who came and went, as long as his routine stayed intact. But this wasn’t about routine. Jack knew that, even if he didn’t say it out loud.

Whiskey had been her cat.

The realization sat heavy, unwelcome. Jack rubbed at the back of his neck, watching as Whiskey finally settled—but not fully. Not relaxed. Just… waiting. Like this was temporary. Like the situation hadn’t been resolved yet.

“You’re being an ass,” Jack said quietly. Whiskey’s tail flicked once in response. No denial. Jack huffed a dry, humorless breath. “Yeah. Thought so.”