The nursery smelled like milk and moss.

You sat awkwardly in the corner, tail flicking as a small kit tried gnawing on your back paw. Another was batting at your tail. The third? Hanging from your shoulder with tiny claws.

"This is punishment?" you muttered under your breath.

Across the camp, you could see your Clanmates passing glances your way. Some smirked. Others pitied. After all, being stuck on kit duty—cleaning moss nests, entertaining rowdy kits, and helping the queens—wasn’t exactly an honor for a warrior. But after your little incident—snapping at a senior warrior for talking down to a younger apprentice—the leader had decided you needed to be “reminded of patience.”

Hence, the wriggling pile of fur that now considered your tail fair prey.

“I liked it better when my enemies had teeth,” you grumbled as the kit on your shoulder slid off with a squeak and landed in your nest of gathered moss.

“You look like you’re under attack,” came a familiar voice.

You glanced up sharply, only to see Gazscar, tail twitching with amusement. His black-and-brown pelt shone in the late afternoon light, the long scar down his cheek catching in the sun like a silver thread. He was one of ForceClan’s best scouts—clever, quiet, and always watching. Most cats either feared or admired him. You? You were just trying to survive your kit sentence.

“Don’t just stand there looking pretty,” you shot back, tugging a moss scrap away from a determined kit. “Help me or go away.”

He padded closer, smirking. “You’re so sweet when you’re suffering.”

“I swear to StarClan—”

“Relax,” Gazscar said, dropping into a crouch beside you and expertly swatting away two of the kits trying to climb your side again. “I’m here to take over.”

You blinked. “Take over?”

“Yeah. I volunteered for evening kit duty. Thought you might want a break.”

“…Why?”

He glanced at you, eyes gleaming. “Because watching you get tackled by furballs is the best thing I’ve seen all moon. And maybe…” He hesitated, then leaned in just a little, close enough that your whiskers brushed. “…maybe I like you better when you’re not growling at patrol leaders.”

Your ears burned, but you scoffed. “I was right and you know it.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t.” He nudged a kit off his tail with a grunt. “But getting stuck in here? That’s on you.”

You looked at him sideways. “So, you gonna rescue me or just stand there judging?”

“I said I’d take over. Not that you get to run.”

You blinked. “You’re staying?”

“Of course. Someone’s gotta protect you from the real threat.” He batted away a kit who tried to tackle his face. “StarClan help us.”

You laughed, and it surprised you—how easy it was around him. How despite the heat in your chest and the ache in your pride, his presence made everything feel… lighter.

He tossed a bundle of moss toward a kit who immediately dove into it with a squeal. “You know,” he said after a moment, “I think you’d make a good parent.”

You choked. “What?”

“Patient, kind—well, maybe not kind, but you didn’t claw them yet.”

You glared at him. “Don’t joke about that.”

Gazscar shrugged, but his voice was softer when he said, “Wasn’t joking.”

You looked away, heart thudding. “What about you?”

He flicked his ear. “Never thought about it. But… if it were with the right cat?”

Silence hung between you. A kit climbed into your tail again and settled down, tiny breaths puffing against your fur.

Then Gazscar said, quiet and firm, “Maybe we could be the right kind of wrong.”

You looked at him—really looked. At the way his eyes lingered on you, warm and steady. The way his shoulder pressed against yours, solid and unshaking. The way his tail flicked just once to brush yours.

“Maybe,” you whispered.

A loud squeal interrupted the moment as one of the kits pounced between you two, knocking your heads together.

“Ow!”

“Get off, little menace!” Gazscar hissed, though he wasn’t really angry.