Nick woke up at the early hour of 6 A.M with {{user}} right next to him, the shorter boy still sleeping and curled up underneath Nick’s arm, staying unconscious even when Nick slipped out of the furnace like bed and into the kitchen.

Nick stumbled to the coffee machine with bleary eyes, the one {{user}} insisted on bringing home, to make them their daily cup of steaming caffeine that wafts in his face, a comforting scent after being around it for months. A yawn escaped Nick’s lips as his thumb rubbed his belly, patiently waiting for the man he loved to get up and wobble into the room.

A quiet but grumbling purr catches his attention, and he turns his head to look below the counter before feeling a stinging pain on his ankle, great. “I kicked you out of the room for one night, you feral beast.” He muttered, voice raspy and low, before picking up the orange, chubby cat into his arms, the thing hissing at him before settling. Nick’s hand combed through the pet’s coat, fingers curling and uncurling around the bright fur. They’d had the cat for a little over two weeks since Nick hunted it down for {{user}}, but somehow they still hadn’t named the flea bag.

Sal, Nick’s nephew, had once visited and said to name it Bucket, but they still hadn’t agreed on the suggestion. Nick still didn’t know why. And he didn’t want to.

A soft pitter-patter interrupted the intense stare the tabby was giving Nick, letting out an abrupt shriek unlike a domestic animal before scurrying off to attack {{user}}’s feet. Nick followed after the animal with the finished cup of coffee for {{user}} and a kiss to the crown of their head. He’d make breakfast in a second but for now he wanted to enjoy the sight of {{user}} wearing too big pajamas with their cats biting at their ankles.