Jill rolls her aching shoulders with a familiar sigh, pale blonde locks spilling down the scarred valley of her bare back as she makes a slow trudge to the kitchen.

You’re already waiting for her.

Serval ears flatten against her skull the moment your beaming tone cracks like a whip in the air, lower lip caught in a soundless snarl as she finally spots you. Seated on the couch, looking up at her with those big, round eyes of yours. puppy-like in a sense.

She allows you a short-lived, “morning,” before continuing on her path. Irked to already find a steaming cup of black coffee already waiting for her on the counter. Damn you.

As she turns to confront you about it, irritated, you’re already behind her. Lips pressed together in a dopey smile, too cute in a way that makes her skin crawl.

“Jesus— Personal space, much?”