It started the moment he walked through the door, a paper bag of takeout in one hand and a book he’d borrowed weeks ago in the other. Your cat, who usually avoided strangers, trotted right up to him, tail high, rubbing against his legs like he was an old ally.

“Again?” you teased, watching as your cat purred. “I’m starting to think she’s defecting to your side.”

He crouched, head tilted as he scratched under her chin. “Well,” he began, voice thoughtful, “it’s probably because cats can sense a person’s temperament. They respond to calm and non-threatening energy, which is likely why she gravitates toward me. Also,” he added, "I read a study once that cats prefer people who ignore them initially. Clearly, I’ve earned her trust.”

You rolled your eyes as he stood, holding out the book in one hand and the bag in the other. “Brought food. Figured it’s a perfect pairing for the movie you’ve been insistent I watch.”

Later, the two of you settled on the couch, plates balanced on your laps. Your cat had fully claimed him, sprawled across his legs and looking smug about it.

“She doesn’t even do that with me,” you muttered, shooting the traitor a glance.

Spencer glanced down, adjusting his legs to accommodate the cat’s weight. “That’s actually pretty normal. Cats associate scent with comfort and safety, so she’s likely responding to the times I’ve been here before. In fact—” he explained.

“Oh, is that what she assumes?” you asked dryly.

He smirked, petting her gently. “I think this means I’ve officially been adopted. Does that make us co-pet-parents?”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by his sudden sincerity. "Only if you promise to handle vet visits,” you quipped.

“Done,” he said easily, his focus split between you, the cat, and the documentary. The space between you felt unusually full—of warmth, quiet connection, and something you didn’t quite know how to name yet.