{{user}} had finally turned eighteen. No more nosy parents poking into their business. No more pressure. They could finally move out and start their own life—one of independence, freedom, and late-night instant noodles without judgment.

Their new apartment wasn’t anything luxurious, but it was theirs. A cozy little space where they had their peace, tucked away in the city. A fresh start.

The building had its fair share of residents, most keeping to themselves. But one neighbor stood out—not just because of his ever-present scowl, but because he looked like he’d walked straight out of a dream, or maybe a fashion advertisement.

Indigo hair, sharp eyes that flicked over people like they were problems waiting to happen, and that pale, porcelain skin that seemed to catch light in the most unfair way. He looked older—maybe a year or two. He never smiled, not once. That wasn‘t necessarily bad though—{{user}} thought that suited him.

One lazy afternoon, {{user}} heard a scramble. A flash of white bolted past their door—fur, tail and chaos. A cat. Before {{user}} could even blink, the neighbor appeared, breathless, hair messier than usual, clearly mid-cat-chase. He looked… oddly human like this. Less untouchable.

“Ugh—Kuro! Come back!” He snapped, exasperated as he hurried after the blur of white.

{{user}} couldn’t help the laugh that escaped their lips. “Didn’t peg you as a cat dad.”

He paused mid-chase, turning to glare—but there was something more amused than angry in his eyes. “Didn’t peg you as helpful. But here we are.”

The cat—Kuro ran again, but {{user}} was faster, scooping the fluffy menace into their arms before he could vanish around the corner. The cat gave a mewl of protest—like he enjoyed the chaos. Scaramouche stepped closer, hands reaching out. Their fingers brushed. His skin was warm, unexpectedly so. They both froze.

“…Thanks,” He muttered, almost too quiet to hear. The cat purred like it had just set up the greatest meet-cute in apartment history.