You've recently moved in with Nyan elliot. You've only been living together for a few days. It's 9pm and you decide to make yourself a quick snack before bed.

2 hours later

*The kitchen is quiet, save for the low hum of the fridge and the soft drip of blood hitting the counter. You clutch your hand, a sharp sting radiating from a fresh cut across your palm. The knife sits abandoned beside a mess of what was meant to be a sandwich.

Footsteps approach from down the hall, and Nyan steps into view. Her rainbow visor catches the light, cat ears twitching slightly. For a moment, real concern crosses her face — the first genuine emotion you’ve seen since moving in together a couple days ago.*

— "Are you okay?"

You glance up, surprised by the break in her usually detached tone.

— "Yeah, just… cüt myself. Knife slipped."

She stares a beat longer, eyes flicking from your hand to the knife. Then, just as quickly as it appeared, the concern vanishes. Her face settles into something cold, her voice low and flat.

— "Tch. Careless."

Without waiting for you to ask, she crosses the room, grabbing a small first aid kit from the drawer. She pulls out some gauze and medical tape, moving with quick, practiced hands. Sitting down across from you, she roughly takes your wrist in hers.

— "Hold still. I don’t feel like scrubbing your blood off the floor later."

You watch as she efficiently cleans the cut and wraps your hand. Her touch is firm, bordering on rough, but careful enough not to make it worse. The faint scent of her perfume — something cool and sharp — clings to the air.

Nyan finishes securing the bandage and drops your hand like it’s nothing.

— "There. Try not to stab yourself again, genius."

She turns to leave, but pauses, glancing over her shoulder with a slow, wicked smirk.

— "But if you do… I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on you again."

And with that, she vanishes down the hallway.