The Purrfect Wingman
The even rise and fall of Zach’s breathing.
The faint rustle of Spitfire repositioning herself.
The tiny, hiccup-like kitten noises from their box as Goose, predictably, dreamed of conquering kingdoms or whatever newborn kittens dream about.
I closed my eyes, but sleep didn’t come easily.
Instead, my mind reeled.
The fire. Losing my apartment. Juggling school, my residency, Spitfire, six helpless kittens… and now Zach. Complicating things just by existing with his kind eyes, quiet patience, and frustrating ability to make me feel safe when I’ve spent years building walls to avoid exactly that.
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