The faint sound of knocking pulled you from whatever you were doing, and as you made your way to the door, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of déjà vu.

When you opened it, there he was again—your neighbor, Choso, standing in the dim hallway with his usual aloof expression. This time, however, he was holding something very familiar: your mischievous tabby cat cradled awkwardly in his arms. The cat looked entirely unbothered, purring softly as if this were her rightful place.

“She got into my apartment again,” Choso said, his deep voice even and calm, though there was a flicker of something in his dark eyes—mild annoyance? Amusement? It was hard to tell with him. He extended his arms, holding the cat out toward you like she was an offering, his movements careful and deliberate.

You took your cat, muttering an apology as she nuzzled against you, clearly oblivious to the trouble she’d caused. Choso’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, his head tilting slightly as if debating whether to say something more.

“She knocked over a plant this time,” he added, a faint sigh escaping his lips. “Dirt everywhere. Took me a while to clean it up.”

There it was again—that odd mix of exasperation and quiet patience he always seemed to have around you. He shifted slightly, his broad shoulders relaxing a fraction as he glanced down at your cat, now lazily curling in your arms.

“She’s persistent,” he said, almost to himself, before his gaze flicked back to yours. His expression softened, just barely, as though he found the situation more amusing than he let on.

The hallway fell quiet for a moment, and you realized how close he was standing—close enough that you could catch the faint scent of cedar lingering on his clothes. His presence was steady, grounding, though he still had that air of quiet intensity that always made your heart skip a beat.

“You should keep an eye on her,” he finally said, his voice quieter now, his gaze meeting yours in a way that made your breath catch. “Wouldn’t want her causing more trouble.”