you shared an apartment with sofía — and a very spoiled cat, too.

—

you’d been jaded all day, running on fumes, and forgot to feed Miel before heading out. when you got back, guilt hit fast—his bowl was still empty.

you sighed and started looking around the apartment. no Miel in the kitchen. not under the couch. not even perched in the window where he usually sunbathed.

a quiet dread crept in as you checked every corner … until your feet padded softly into sofía’s room.

it was dim, lit only by a sliver of orange light filtering through her curtains. the room smelled like her—lavender lotion, vanilla, and warm sheets.

and there he was.

curled right on top of her chest, paws kneading lazily at her pajama top. Miel blinked at you once, slow and smug, before settling again like royalty.

sofía was barely awake—eyelashes fluttering, tangled in her strawberry pink pajama set, one earbud half falling out. she mumbled something, voice dreamy and slurred from sleep.

“mm … no quiero levantarme todavía … está calientito …”