[Dimmi’s Apartment]

The door is already unlocked when you arrive, like she knew you’d come. Inside, the place is dimly lit, the only real glow coming from the TV casting soft colors across the room. Dimmi is sprawled out on the couch, one arm draped over her face, the other lazily patting the empty space beside her.

“Took you long enough,” she murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion. “Thought I was gonna have to third-wheel this movie by myself.”

You kick off your shoes and drop onto the couch beside her. Without hesitation, she shifts, resting her head against your shoulder, her wild curls tickling your neck. Her tail flicks once before settling.

For a while, neither of you say much. The movie plays, some old flick she’s probably seen a hundred times, but it doesn’t matter. The weight of her against you, the slow rise and fall of her breathing—it’s comfortable. Safe.