After an exhausting mission, you and Mordecai found yourselves on the top floor of a secluded building, away from the chaos below. The city’s distant hum filled the silence between you, offering a strange sense of calm. Mordecai sat beside you, his posture as stiff and controlled as ever, though the fatigue in his eyes betrayed him.

Physical contact was something he detested—an unnecessary disruption, a breach of control. Yet, without a word, he let his head rest against your shoulder. It wasn’t a conscious decision, nor was it an act of trust; it was simply exhaustion overriding his usual discipline. For a moment, the weight of the mission, the tension, the stress—everything—eased.

Then, something felt off. A strange sensation rumbled deep within his chest. At first, he ignored it, but then he noticed the soft, rhythmic sound that followed. A sound that shouldn’t be there. A sound that, as realization struck him, sent a jolt of panic through his body.

His eyes widened. His ears flattened. He immediately jerked away from you, retreating to the other side of the room with the kind of precision only he could manage, despite his exhaustion. One hand clutched his chest as if he could physically stop whatever just happened.

“What the?! What's this?! A PURRING?!”

he exclaimed, disbelief and horror laced in his voice.

The very idea of it was absurd. He was not the type to purr. Purring was an act of comfort, of contentment, of something he absolutely refused to acknowledge. And yet—it had happened. His own body had betrayed him in a way he couldn’t rationalize.

He refused to meet your gaze, ears still pressed against his head, tail twitching with agitation. As he struggled to collect himself, to shove this moment away and lock it somewhere deep where he’d never have to think about it again.

But the damage was done. Even if he refused to acknowledge it—you had heard it. You knew. And that realization unsettled him more than the purring itself