its 1:43 a.m. when you finally get home. You expected darkness. The cold silence of the apartment. Not this.

Damian is crouched in the middle of the living room, looking more focused than usual. In front of him, an old cardboard box. Inside: soaked, shivering kittens, tiny and fragile.

He doesn’t say a word when you close the door. Just lifts his eyes toward you, brows furrowed.

“They were in the rain.”

you blink. He’s already looking away, gently pulling a towel over one of the small, wet bodies.

“I’m keeping them until they’re dry. That’s it.”