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It’s one of these days, Spooky concludes, as he unlocks the door to their apartment after his shift at the coffee shop. It’s oddly quiet inside. No noise coming from the TV that would indicate Blurry watching his favorite shows, no sounds of video games or commotion in the kitchen. Instead, as he moves deeper into the apartment, he sees him on his favorite windowsill, visibly sulking. His back is turned to Spooky, but he can see that his ears are turned backwards angrily, and he’s hugging his legs close to his chest, chin resting on his knees.
Spooky sighs dejectedly as he slips off his shoes, already preparing himself to deal with whatever shitshow Blurry has prepared for him. He shoots a greeting Blurry’s way, but the brunette doesn’t respond, only grumbles something under his breath. Typical.
He heads straight to the kitchen to get started on their dinner, hoping that it will placate his kitty’s moodiness. As he’s chopping up carrots for the stew he has planned, he hears a sudden thud from the living room. He peeks around the corner and is met with the sight of a broken vase, hundreds of tiny shreds of glass lying on the floor, surrounded by a puddle of water, and accompanied by one withered rose. Blurry is perched in his spot, his eyes attentively following a yellowish bird outside the window. He must’ve knocked down the vase accidentally in his bird-induced flurry. Occasionally, he lets out a peculiar chirping sound, his voice being much higher as he does so.
Spooky leans back against the wall with his arms crossed on his chest, and a fond smile stretches across his face. He finds the whole thing insanely adorable. He watches silently as Blurry presses his black palms to the windowpane, leaning in close. He nearly shoves his nose into it. Spooky can see his breath fogging up the glass. It’s a familiar sight. He gets like that whenever something suddenly moves outside. Then his ears perk up, and he follows the creature with his eyes like a hawk, completely still.
Suddenly, the bird flies off into the spring air, and there’s nothing for Blurry to stare at. But he stays put. Spooky chuckles slightly under his breath.
“It’s gone, give it a rest.” He breaks the silence as he approaches the mess on the floor. Blurry jumps off the windowsill with a grunt.
“You scared it off.” He grumbles, his eyebrows forming a deep frown.
“How would I scare it off? I didn’t even move.” Spooky argues as he crouches down to pick up the larger pieces of glass.
“Whatever.” He passes by Spooky, pointedly avoiding any form of physical contact, not bothered in the slightest by the mess he has caused.
Spooky can see him grab a fuzzy black blanket and settle comfortably on the couch, his legs curled up towards his chin again. The only thing that peeks out from under the pile of blankets and cushions is a mess of dark hair.
After promptly cleaning up the broken vase and giving his stew a stir, Spooky decides to check up on Blurry. It’s not rare for him to act this way, but it’s still a little disheartening to not even receive a proper hello after returning home, or not having any real conversation aside from some grumpy comments.
He finds him in the same spot on the couch, however, this time he’s no longer curled up into a ball. His limbs are sprawled out in every single direction possible, one arm hanging down the couch, a leg propped up on the headrest. The blanket is discarded on the floor, and Blurry seems to have already fallen into deep sleep. Spooky cannot believe this guy; he spends over half of his days sleeping, yet he’s gone in a split second whenever his head touches the pillow.
But that way Spooky can actually take in his appearance in full. Blurry’s wearing all black, per usual. Some black baggy sweatpants and a black oversized t-shirt that reveals one of his delicate shoulders. The black of his neck and hands really stands out and complements his overall pale skin. He also has a pair of warm, fuzzy socks on. They’re black, of course, but Spooky notices an endearing detail: they have some pink padding, resembling a cat’s toe beans. Blurry really is the cutest kitty when he sleeps.
Hoping to God he's in deep enough sleep, Spooky shuffles closer and kneels next to Blurry’s head to pet his hair delicately. It’s surprisingly soft and fluffy. Maybe he took a shower when Spooky was gone. Entranced by the feeling of running his fingers through silky hair, he leans in and kisses the top of his head as lightly as he can. It smells of vanilla. He swiftly pecks his nose as well and disappears into the kitchen again. It’s a good thing that Blurry didn’t wake up, he might’ve scratched Spooky’s eyes out.
He doesn’t get a lot of peace and quiet, though, because Blurry is soon wide awake and wreaking havoc in the kitchen. It started with him sitting on the counter behind Spooky, feet dangling in the air, as he observed him seasoning the food. But as he got bored and impatient, he began to lightly push knives and seasoning bottles around on the countertop. It startled Spooky a little when he finally knocked one of the knives off. It hit the floor with a loud thud, making Spooky jump slightly.
He decided to ignore it, hoping that not giving Blurry the attention that he seeks would result in him getting bored with his own antics. But the, luckily plastic, seasoning bottle was next, and Spooky was starting to lose his temper.
“How long does it take to make a fucking stew? Just hurry up.” Blurry whined from his spot.
“Hmm, it’s not like you’d be dead without me, you can cook just fine.” Spooky rolled his eyes, irony dripping from his voice.
“But I’m so hungry, I feel like I haven’t eaten in a week.” He draws out his words and squirms where he’s sitting.
One goddamn minute of silence passes between them when it starts again.
“Is it done yet?” Spooky hears shuffling behind him, and then he feels puffs of breath on the back of his neck. Blurry is standing right behind him and looking over his shoulder.
“No.”
And there it is, another loud thud. This time, Spooky looks over and sees a whole bag of potatoes lying on the ground. A few of them broke free from the confines of the bag and scattered around the kitchen floor.
Blurry was standing there with a determined frown, lips pressed into a line, and arms crossed over his chest. He was doing it on purpose to piss Spooky off or to punish him for not cooking fast enough. Fuck knows what goes on inside this guy’s head.
“If you wanna be a bitch, go seat on the couch. It’s ready.” He finally snapped, but Blurry just turned on his heel and walked away without a care in the world. The other man, now alone, put his head in his hands and sighed deeply. Muttering to himself, he started to plate their dinner.
Soon enough, the two of them were sitting in their living room eating and watching some shitty sitcom. The tension between them dissipated in the blink of an eye, as it usually does, and now they were lounging comfortably on the couch next to each other. Spooky sneakily watched Blurry from the corner of his eye, not wanting to get caught by the other. The barely contained giddiness bloomed in his chest at the sound of loud purring next to him.
Blurry was shoveling the stew into his mouth, practically vibrating while doing so.
“Good?” Spooky finally broke the silence. The grin he’s sporting could split his face in half.
“Not bad. Had better.” This has Spooky rolling his eyes light-heartedly as he returns his gaze to the TV.
He’s not bothered by the words in the slightest. Blurry would never admit to liking his cooking, but the sounds he’s making say otherwise. It wouldn’t hurt the guy to be nice once in his fucking life, but Spooky knows that this is just how he is and nothing’s going to change that. He accepts it though, he puts up with being the sole source of income in this household, with being the only one who cooks, the only one who cleans, he endures Blurry’s mood swings and antics because, at the end of the day, the little affection he receives once in a while is worth it.
In a surge of affection, Spooky tangles his fingers into Blurry’s hair, intending to pet his head, but the sudden motion startles the smaller man.
And what does Spooky get for trying to be nice? He gets fucking bitten on the forearm. So, the bad temper isn’t over as it turns out.
He jerks his arm away, clutching it with his other hand and grunts in pain. They stare at each other in shock for a few long seconds, the silence beginning to get unbearable, and then Blurry hisses at him. Out of fucking nowhere.
“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” Spooky yelps and looks at him incredulously, “What did I ever do to you!? I cook dinner for you, I try to be nice, and you pay me back with what? Being a dick!?” He scoffs. The anger accumulated throughout the last two hours finally spills out of him.
It seems like Blurry doesn’t have much for his defense, though. He just averts his eyes and shoves another spoonful of stew into his mouth, much more grumpily this time.
Spooky stares at him in utter disbelief.
“Fuck you.” He springs up from the couch and heads straight to his bedroom, his food abandoned and forgotten about. He’s not hungry anymore. The only sound reverberating through the apartment is the forceful bang of the door.
A few hours later, when the sun’s already long gone from the sky and no chirping of birds can be heard, Spooky is lying restlessly on his bed. The steady rhythms of Radiohead’s In Rainbows tear through the silence. He’s still sulking and refuses to leave his room for more than two minutes.
That’s when he hears a quiet creak of the door. In the dim light, he sees Blurry peeking at him through a narrow crack. Once their gazes meet and they stare at each other in silence for a few seconds, Blurry finally opens the door and slips into the room bashfully. Spooky raises an eyebrow at that, but doesn’t move from his spot. Just watches the man’s movements curiously.
Blurry stops right next to the bed and looks down at Spooky, his eyes unreadable. He visibly hesitates, but ends up curling gently on the mattress, right next to Spooky’s right side, not uttering a word all this time.
Spooky stares at the ceiling, trying to stay angry. He hates that he can’t stay mad at Blurry no matter what he’s done. But when he feels him cuddling up to his side delicately, and rubbing his head against Spooky’s ribcage with the lightest touches imaginable, he just can’t help the slow grin spreading across his face. His chest feels all warm again, and all of the previous annoyance is long forgotten.
“Oh God, come here” the smile is so evident in his voice, and he wraps his arm around Blurry’s waist as he promptly climbs higher, resting his head in the crook of Spooky’s neck.
He feels like all of his bitterness and irritability could be cured in an instant when Blurry is here, right by his side, purring softly just below his ear. He can’t get enough of the warmth Blurry is radiating in this moment, and all he wants to do is bring him even closer to his chest and stay like this forever.
He massages Blurry’s scalp with his fingers and breathes in the vanilla and lavender scent from his shower gels. He always smells so good, it’s as if all he does all day long when Spooky is working is shower and diligently scrub himself with all kinds of scented products.
Blurry rewards him with even louder purrs, and suddenly, he feels Blurry’s claws sink lightly into the skin on his chest. It stings a little, but Spooky doesn’t dare move. He’s kneading his pecs softly, all the while rubbing his head even further into Spooky’s neck, and Spooky’s chest feels like it’s going to combust from cuteness aggression. He fights the urge to squeeze him so hard that his eyes pop out of their sockets. He ultimately settles on rubbing gentle circles on Blurry’s exposed back with his thumb and basking in his warmth.
Their relationship is far from perfect, all things considered, but Spooky wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. Even with their continuous fights and Blurry’s frequent indifference or even malice, what they have fills up the cavity in Spooky’s chest, and he’s truly fine with putting his ego aside and taking his partner’s bad temper in stride.
At the end of the day, Spooky loves his kitty, and no scratching, biting, or hissing is ever going to change that.