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Medea and Psyche lived on the third floor of their apartment building, in apartment 3A.
At the time, Psyche was the one paying the bills. Medea still had her job (through the good graces of the stockholders), but her father's company going bankrupt had thrown everything into chaos, and she'd been cutting her own paycheck to increase their funding.
Psyche didn't mind being the breadwinner. She'd give Medea the sun and moon if she asked- a couple hours overtime meant very little to her. So even though her shift should have ended at five pm, she came home at eight.
She was exhausted and drenched with rain by the time she entered the apartment, but she had her "light at the end of the tunnel"- Medea would be sitting in the living room, sorting through endless stacks of paper, and when Psyche said "I'm home", she would look up, and smile.
"I'm home," she called, shutting the door behind her.
The living-room was empty.
"...Medea?"
Psyche hung up her coat and went to search the apartment.
The kitchen was empty. So was the bedroom.
Psyche tried to stay calm. Medea was the type of person to always expect the worst-case scenario, but Psyche thought of herself as a little more rational than that.
The door was locked, she thought. It doesn't look like anything's been stolen.
So Medea hadn't been kidnapped. Obviously. She probably just went outside for a little bit… in the pouring rain…
Psyche was three seconds away from organizing a search party when there was a rustling sound, and the door popped open.
Medea was standing in the doorway with a soaking wet jacket pulled up over her head and a dark shape cradled in her arm.
Psyche looked at Medea. Medea looked at Psyche.
The dark shape meowed.
"We can't afford a cat," Medea said. Her posture was so stiff, she almost looked like a wax figure.
"I know," Psyche said, hesitantly. Her eyes darted between Medea and the kitten.
"It was on the fire escape," she said. "It kept crying." Medea held the kitten closer to her chest. Her shirt was partially unbuttoned so it could be warmed against her skin. "We can't afford it."
"I know," Psyche repeated softly. "Let me get some towels."
Psyche grabbed an armful of towels from the bathroom and led Medea to sit down on the couch, who was uncharacteristically quiet.
Psyche helped her take off the jacket and hung it on a drying rack. Her hair was dripping water down her back and shoulders. Psyche wrapped one of the towels around her head and gently kissed her forehead, which was still damp with rain.
Once Psyche was done drying her hair, she put a towel on her arm and took the kitten, which Medea acquiesced silently. Where she'd been holding the kitten to her bare skin, Psyche noticed fine scratches and angry, red claw marks.
"Medea…"
"It's fine."
Psyche bit her lip but nodded.
The kitten was fairly easy to dry. It was young, and it was even smaller from how thin it was. Psyche could feel ribs underneath its coat.
Even still, it looked striking. It had completely black fur and big, green eyes.
"Oh, you're so pretty, aren't you?" Psyche cooed.
"We can't keep it," Medea reminded her.
"Mhm," Psyche said, still looking at the kitten. "We'll see if it has a chip. I bet somebody misses you an awful lot, huh?"
Medea's fingers dug into the couch, but she said nothing.
-
The next day, they went to the vet.
The kitten didn't have a chip, but she had been spayed already, so she must have had an owner at some point.
"I wonder what happened," Psyche said, watching her eat from a can of tuna on the counter.
Medea hummed from the couch. She was scrolling through Facebook and Twitter, trying to find any mention of a lost black cat and failing.
"Maybe she was bad luck," Medea said.
"Oh, I doubt it," Psyche cooed, stroking the kitten's fur.
-
At night, the kitten was to be locked in the bathroom with a makeshift litter box to prevent her from getting into trouble.
She mewed incessantly. They lay awake, unable to sleep.
"She'll stop eventually," Medea whispered.
"Mmm."
She did stop. There was only silence and the ambient sound of the fridge. Psyche felt bad for her, but more than anything she felt tired. She was almost asleep when Medea sat bolt upright and got out of bed.
There was the sound of doors opening and closing, a loud and triumphant mew, and then Medea walking back in from the hallway. Psyche groggily recognized the kitten in her arms.
"Medea…?" She mumbled, propping herself up on one arm. "Whassat...?"
Medea slid beneath the covers and put the kitten between them.
"She's just a baby," Medea murmured, quietly, almost embarrassed.
The kitten curled up beside her head. Medea stroked her back, and she purred with all the intensity her tiny body could hold.
Psyche lay back down, content. "Okay."
Medea petted the kitten for a while longer, until tears formed in the corners of her eyes.
"We should keep her," Psyche said. Medea bristled, and drew back.
"We can't-!"
"We'll make it work. We always do," Psyche said, reaching out to scratch the kitten beneath the chin. "This is important."
Slowly, Medea's shoulders dropped. "I- okay. We can make it work. I'll find something."
Psyche hummed, then wiped the tears from Medea's eyes with her thumb. "It's all gonna be okay," she said.
Medea settled back down into the bed. The kitten purred.
And everything was okay.