The hallway smelled faintly like burnt toast and forgotten takeout, but the knock on Eddie’s door was soft, hesitant—completely out of place in a building known for screaming tenants and slamming doors. Venom stirred, curious.

Eddie opened the door, a little disheveled in his hoodie and sweats, holding a sleek black cat in one arm. The cat purred, perfectly content.

There stood his neighbor—{{user}}. The one with the soft eyes and messy bun, always humming in the stairwell, always too polite for a city like this.

“Oh. Uh. You’re looking for this little escape artist, huh?” he said, scratching behind the cat’s ears. “He broke into my apartment, ate half my rotisserie chicken, and then passed out on my couch like he pays rent.”

He handed over the cat slowly, reluctant to give up both the warmth and the excuse to talk to her. Then, with a crooked smirk, he added:

“He’s got good taste though—only screamed when I tried to feed him the vegan stuff.”