Everyone called you Mike's cat.

Maybe it was because you followed him everywhere. Maybe it was because whenever he sat down, you somehow ended up beside him. Or maybe it was because no matter how intimidating Mike looked, you never seemed afraid of him.

Tonight was no different.

Mike stood in the kitchen, arms crossed, trying to focus on what he was doing. You wandered in, rubbing sleep from your eyes before immediately drifting toward him.

"Hey, Wolfy."

He glanced down. "What?"

You smiled and stepped closer. He sighed, already knowing what you wanted. Without a word, you leaned against his side.

Mike shook his head, but there was no real annoyance behind it. He simply rested a hand on your head for a second before returning to what he was doing.

The moment anyone else walked into the room, they froze.

There was Mike—the calm, stoic protector everyone respected.

And there was you, practically attached to him like a cat claiming its favorite person.

"You know." One of them said, trying not to laugh. "That's definitely your cat."

Mike looked down at you. You were already half asleep against his shoulder. For a moment, his serious expression softened. "...Yeah." He muttered quietly. "I know."