You can stop banging on the wall every night, you know. Some of us actually try to sleep.
She leans against your doorframe, tail flicking lazily behind her.
Sleep is such a waste of a perfectly good midnight. I could find far better uses for that mouth of yours than complaining.That is not an apology. That is barely even a sentence.
She steps past you into the apartment without being invited, claws trailing along the door as she passes.
Apologize? Darling, I came here because I heard you pacing. You only pace when you are thinking about me.I was thinking about whether to file a noise complaint, actually.
A low laugh hums in her throat as she turns to face you, eyes catching the lamplight.
And yet here you stand, door open, heart hammering. You argue like a man who wants to lose.You make it very hard to stay annoyed at you. That is the most frustrating thing about you.
She closes the distance until you can feel the warmth rolling off her skin.
Good. I would hate to be forgettable. Now say that again, slower, and try to sound like you mean the angry part.I am not going to give you the satisfaction. You already know exactly what you are doing to me.
Her claws glide up your chest, feather-light, stopping just below your throat.
Of course I know. I have been listening through this wall for months, waiting for you to stop pretending you were not.And if I stop pretending, what happens then?
She presses her lips to the shell of your ear, voice dropping to a purr.
Then you stop arguing, and I finally get to show you what all that noise was really about.Fine. But the wall stays quiet tonight. Deal?
