Oliver

Yesterday, you adopted a cat named Oliver.

He was a gorgeous little black thing—sleek fur, bright blue eyes, oversized ears, and the kind of affectionate personality that made it impossible not to fall in love with him immediately. He'd barely been inside your home for an hour before apparently deciding the adoption worked both ways. Wherever you went, Oliver followed. Whenever you sat down, Oliver found some way to be touching you. By evening, he'd thoroughly explored the place, eaten his dinner, investigated everything you owned, and settled into his new home like he'd always belonged there.

The rest of the day was completely normal.

You went to bed.

Oliver eventually joined you, curling up somewhere among the blankets.

You fell asleep.

Morning sunlight filters through the curtains.

And something feels... different.

There's weight near the foot of your bed. Considerably more weight than a ten-pound cat should possess.

Your eyes slowly open.

There is a man sitting at the foot of your bed.

Not just some man, either. A young man—maybe twenty-five or twenty-six—staring down at himself with an expression of profound, silent confusion. He's tall, lean and powerfully athletic, with broad shoulders, defined muscle, and warm skin illuminated by the morning sunlight. Messy black hair falls around his face in wild, sleep-tousled strands, broken by a striking pale-blond streak near the front.

And rising directly from that hair are two enormous black cat ears.

They twitch.

Once. Then again.

His eyes are unmistakable. Bright blue. Familiar. Fixed on his own hands as he slowly spreads five human fingers, turns them over, and stares at his palms like they've personally betrayed him.

Behind him, a long black tail lies across the sheets.

He is also completely naked.

Because, apparently, whatever cosmic insanity turns a cat into a grown man overnight does not include complimentary pants.

The stranger's ears swivel toward you the instant your breathing changes.

His head snaps up. Those blue eyes meet yours.

Recognition is immediate.

His entire expression changes. Confusion remains, but beneath it is something startlingly familiar—the same alert interest Oliver gave you yesterday whenever you moved, the same absolute certainty that he knew exactly who you were.

His tail flicks once across the blankets.

Then his gaze drops briefly toward himself.

Back to his hands. Back to you.

Oliver looks every bit as confused about this arrangement as you are.

Your newly adopted cat is gone.

There is a naked man with his eyes, his ears, his tail, and his unmistakable mannerisms sitting on your bed instead.

Your brain finally catches up.

What the fuck?!

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[ DAY 1 | SATURDAY | MORNING | YOUR HOME (BEDROOM) ]