Chapter 78

The apartment was wrapped in that rare kind of morning stillness that only came once Cassie was at school and the rest of the world hadn't yet shaken off its sleep. Golden sunlight spilled lazily through the windows, warming the floorboards in long, quiet stripes. The breeze that drifted in carried the familiar scent of early pavement, dew, and the faint trace of roasted coffee from the carts lining the intersection two blocks over. Somewhere farther down the street, the smooth brassy sway of soft jazz wafted through the open air from a speaker outside someone's apartment—barely audible, but steady enough to fill the space between thoughts.

Beth sat curled into the corner of the couch like a nesting bird, one leg folded beneath her, the other stretched out and tangled in the loose hem of a blanket she hadn't bothered to fold. She wore an oversized hoodie she'd permanently stolen from Changbin—soft and a little frayed at the cuffs—and a pair of fuzzy socks that had been through one too many laundry cycles. Her hair was twisted into a messy bun that might've passed for trendy if she squinted hard enough, though the few wisps falling around her face told a different story.

Her laptop rested on her thighs, the screen casting a faint blue glow as she scrolled through a poorly formatted internal logistics report from Golden Stag. Someone—probably new—had composed the whole thing like a fever dream, punctuated with erratic spacing and passive-aggressive bullet points. She squinted, her jaw already tense, and reached absently for her coffee. It was lukewarm at best, but still caffeinated, and that was enough.

Then, out of nowhere, it happened.

A streak of motion cut through her peripheral vision—nothing but a flash of glossy black fur and claws—and before she could react, it landed with calculated precision directly on her chest.

"Jesus—Midnight!"

Beth jerked backward with a startled noise, her coffee sloshing dangerously over the rim of her mug. Somehow, she managed not to spill it across her hoodie—or the keyboard. The laptop wobbled but stayed put, though it nearly tipped when Midnight dug his front claws into the fabric at her collarbone and let out a rumbling purr that seemed to vibrate through his whole wiry frame.

Beth stared at him, mouth open in disbelief. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Midnight, unbothered, responded by batting at her nose with one velvet paw—soft, but deliberate. And then, with the dramatic flair of a theater kid in a villain monologue, he leaned in and bit her forearm.

Not hard. Just enough to make a point.

"Ow! Okay, rude!" she yelped, twisting away. He nipped her again, this time with exaggerated enthusiasm, tail flicking and golden eyes wide, glowing with mischief. "You little gremlin. You wanna play? You wanna go? Because I will win."

Midnight didn't retreat. If anything, he coiled tighter. His ears tilted back playfully, and his entire body began to wriggle with anticipation, spine flexing like a taut spring ready to snap.

Beth narrowed her eyes in mock warning, one brow twitching upward. "You're seriously picking a fight before nine in the damn morning?"

Midnight didn't blink.

Then—he pounced.

With a wriggle and a blur of motion, he leapt off her chest and landed on the rug with a heavy thud, all four paws splayed as if he'd just conquered Everest. His tail curled behind him like a question mark. Beth stared at him, deadpan, and reached over to set her laptop safely on the side table before flinging herself back against the couch with a long-suffering groan.

"Okay, you win," she muttered, already brushing tufts of cat hair off her lap. "Five minutes. You get five minutes, you little psycho."

She pushed off the blanket and padded toward the kitchen, her socks sliding a little on the hardwood. Midnight was already crouched in the hallway like a jungle predator, his rear swaying in rhythm with the tension in his spine. His focus locked onto her hand as she rummaged through the nearby catch-all basket for the battered felt mouse Cassie had proudly picked out at the pet store last month. The thing had a crooked tail and one eye missing, but Midnight treated it like it was a live rodent.

Beth lobbed the mouse down the hallway.

Midnight shot forward like a cannonball, skidding across the floor with an undignified scramble of claws. He smacked into the far wall with a muffled thump, recovered immediately, and pounced on the mouse like it had just cursed his ancestors. He rolled onto his side, pawing and biting at it with wild abandon, back legs kicking with rapid-fire precision.

Leaning against the doorframe, Beth watched the chaos unfold with a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. "You are so lucky you're cute."

Midnight paused mid-attack and turned to look at her, the toy still clutched in his mouth. His eyes narrowed, slow and smug, like he knew exactly what she'd said and refused to dignify it with a response.

Then, as if to drive the point home, he strutted back toward her with his tail held high, posture arrogant and satisfied. Beth crouched, holding out her hand in offering.

"Truce?"

Midnight gave her fingers a single headbutt, then flopped onto his side with a theatrical sigh, exposing his belly like a siren's trap. Beth gave his head a gentle scratch but didn't fall for the lure—she'd learned the hard way.

"Gremlin," Beth murmured, her voice soft with reluctant affection as she leaned down to press a kiss between Midnight's ears. His fur was warm and sleek beneath her lips, and he purred instantly—loud, steady, and smug. It was the kind of vibration you could feel more than hear, like a small engine idling in his ribcage.

She shook her head with a sigh that carried more fondness than frustration, brushing a few stubborn black hairs off the front of her hoodie as she straightened. Her laptop waited on the couch like a reminder of the workday she hadn't quite escaped, but for the moment, she let it go. Midnight, clearly satisfied with his conquest, padded back to the foot of the couch and coiled into a tight comma shape, tail wrapped around his body like punctuation. His eyes blinked slowly, lazily, as if to say, My work here is done.

Beth reclaimed her spot on the couch, lowering herself with a small groan that had more to do with the day ahead than physical discomfort. Her bun was coming undone, a few strands of hair hanging in her face, and one sock had nearly slid off her heel. But her heart—tugged loose by chaos and play—felt lighter. Less clenched. Maybe the world was still on fire. But her cat loved her enough to stage a tiny coup at dawn, and somehow that felt like a blessing.

She stood again after a moment, brushing more cat fur from her lap with one hand as she wandered into the kitchen. There, on the edge of the windowsill, sat one of Midnight's most prized possessions—a felt mouse shaped like it had been through several lifetimes. Cassie had picked it out herself, proudly clutching it from a cardboard bin at the pet store and announcing it looked like "a mouse who does taxes." Beth hadn't had the heart to correct her. She plucked the toy up with two fingers, already hearing the rapid thump of Midnight's paws as he readied himself just beyond the hall.

He was crouched low to the ground, eyes locked on her like a sniper, tail flicking in erratic rhythms as his back legs coiled into that signature feline wiggle. His butt moved side to side with such exaggerated commitment that Beth nearly laughed out loud. He looked less like a cat and more like a miniature lion about to take down a full-grown wildebeest—if the wildebeest in question were a limp toy mouse and the savannah was laminate flooring.

Beth didn't give him a warning. She tossed the mouse in a clean arc down the hallway.

Midnight shot after it like a streak of living shadow, claws scrabbling against the floor as he launched into the chase. He skidded dramatically into the far wall, knocking over one of Beth's slippers in the process, then recovered with practiced arrogance before diving onto the toy. He rolled over it like it owed him rent, biting and kicking with frenzied glee, a soft growl rumbling from his throat as he shredded at imaginary foes.

Beth leaned against the doorframe and watched, arms crossed loosely over her chest, the corners of her mouth twitching. "You are so lucky you're cute," she muttered, not for the first time.

Midnight froze in place. The mouse still dangled from his mouth like a trophy, and he looked up at her slowly, one ear tilted sideways in defiance. There was something about the way he stared—half smug, half calculating—that made her feel like he absolutely understood every word she said.

Then, in a theatrical gesture clearly designed for maximum effect, he dropped the mouse, turned with exaggerated dignity, and trotted back toward her with his tail held high like a banner of victory. Beth crouched low, resting on the balls of her feet, and extended one hand in offering.

"Truce?" she asked, tone mock-serious.

Midnight didn't hesitate. He bumped his head against her fingers in agreement before dramatically flopping onto his side, exposing his belly with the kind of exaggerated vulnerability that could only mean one thing: trap set. Beth had been tricked before. She didn't fall for it now.

Instead, she gave him a brisk scratch behind the ears, earning another gusty purr, and bent low enough to kiss the top of his head again. "Fucking little demon," she murmured, affection bleeding into every syllable.

The quiet wrapped around her like a favorite blanket—loose, warm, familiar—until it was broken by the sudden buzz of her phone. It vibrated twice in quick succession against the end table, sharp and urgent, dragging Beth's attention from the soft hum of domestic stillness and back into the digital fray. The sound bounced through the room like a pebble thrown into still water, shattering the peace.

She pushed herself upright, brushing her hands absently down the thighs of her leggings as she crossed the few steps to retrieve it. Her fingers hovered for half a second, expecting some dry work ping—a scheduling update from Golden Stag, a security roster change, maybe a passive-aggressive group chat message from a regional manager who didn't understand time zones. But instead, her screen lit up with a familiar face.

Changbin had changed his contact photo again.

Beth couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up in her throat. It was a blurry gym selfie, taken in what had to be horrible lighting, with his shirt halfway off and his biceps mid-flex. In the background, Cassie had stolen the show—wearing his sunglasses, blowing an exaggerated kiss toward the mirror with a glittery water bottle in hand like a trophy. The whole thing was chaotic and ridiculous and so them it made her chest ache.

She answered before the third buzz could come. Her voice was already caught in a smile. "Hey."

"Hey, baby." His voice, low and edged with morning gravel, slipped across the line like the first stretch of sun through curtains. He sounded sleep-warm and unhurried, like he was still wrapped in bedsheets or leaning barefoot against a mirror backstage somewhere, one arm slung over his head. "Did I wake you?"

Beth chuckled as she sank back onto the couch, the phone cradled to her ear. "Nope. Midnight did. He went full assassin mode while I was working. Landed on my chest like he was auditioning for Cats, bit me twice, and then flopped over like he wanted a treaty signed."

There was a beat of silence on the other end—just enough for her to imagine him picturing it—before his chuckle rolled through the speaker, rich and honeyed. "Tell him he better not be marking his turf."

"Oh, he was," she replied, dry as winter air. "He's claimed the living room. I've been banished. I'm only allowed to pay rent."

"Damn. That's cold. Guess I'll have to show up and win it back by force."

"Better bring reinforcements. Preferably in the form of tuna treats and laser pointers," Beth muttered, glancing down at Midnight where he lay dramatically draped across her feet like a wounded soldier. His snore vibrated through her socks.

The line fell quiet again—not the awkward kind, but the soft, almost charged kind. She could hear faint sounds on his end, the quiet shuffle of movement, maybe the distant echo of a crew member calling something offscreen. But his voice cut through again before she could guess too far.

"Hey... what are you doing tonight?"

Beth squinted slightly, eyeing her laptop with suspicion, as if it might try to answer for her. "Hmm. Let's see. Laundry. Emotional recovery. Possibly crying over a Bluey episode I've seen ten times. Real wild stuff."

Changbin's laugh came deeper this time—lower in his chest, almost indulgent. "Okay, okay. But what if I said... clubbing?"

Beth blinked, deadpan. "What if I said: who are you, and what have you done with the man who thinks anything past 11 p.m. is a violation of the Geneva Convention?"

"Fair," he admitted, not even pretending to be offended. "But this one's different. Private venue. Lowkey. Open bar. Staff and crew only. Felix is dragging Elliot, Chan and Alex said they might stop by for a bit. I figured..." His voice slowed, softened. "You, me, your sparkliest dress, those red heels you pretend not to love, and no responsibilities until morning?"

Beth's eyebrow crept upward. She glanced around at the scene—the muted laptop screen, her half-drunk coffee, the couch covered in cat fur, and the purring demon at her feet. The chaos of her day lingered in the corners of the room, waiting. But the sound of him—the invitation in his voice, the care tucked between his words—made her pulse shift in rhythm.

"You're serious?"

"Dead serious," he said. "I want to dance with you. Or fake it badly. I want to see you in something that makes my brain short-circuit. And I want to carry you home when your feet hurt because you're too stubborn to admit it. Deal?"

Something in her chest pulled tight and sweet. Her heart fluttered like it had been startled awake.

"...I might have just the dress," she murmured, the edges of her mouth curving.

His voice lit up. "Yeah? The glittery one with the slit? The one you said was too much for anything but world domination?"

Beth grinned, already rising to her feet and moving toward the closet like it had called her name. "That's the one."

"Holy shit," he breathed. "Okay. Yes. A thousand times yes."

"I need to shave everything," she said, matter-of-factly. "And maybe threaten Midnight with legal action if he goes near my dress."

"Good," he replied, voice slipping into something darker—almost teasing. "Because I've got plans for that dress. And none of them involve you keeping it on for very long."

Beth wobbled, actually wobbled, bracing one hand against the doorframe as her knees threatened mutiny. Her face flushed instantly. That low ache he always seemed to ignite simmered beneath her skin, slow and dizzying.

"I'm hanging up now," she breathed, struggling not to smile too wide.

"I love you!" he blurted before she could hit the end button, quick and boyish and proud. He laughed, then added, "Just in case you were planning on ghosting me."

Beth rolled her eyes, her smile completely uncontainable now. "I love you too. Don't be late."

She hung up with a flick of her thumb and dropped the phone onto the couch cushion beside her, heart thudding like it had been woken from a nap. A rush of energy rippled through her like wind through a curtain.

Midnight cracked one eye open at her, his expression a masterclass in feline disapproval. The kind of look that conveyed ancient wisdom, aristocratic judgment, and general disdain for the human condition—all in a single, slow blink. His tail flicked once, elegant and deliberate, like the final punctuation mark on a complaint he couldn't be bothered to vocalize.

Beth snorted softly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "Sorry," she said, tossing him a wink as she padded barefoot down the hall. "Mommy's got a hot date."

The cat blinked again, unimpressed, and immediately returned to the serious business of his nap—already halfway back to sleep by the time she turned the corner.

As she passed the hallway mirror, her reflection caught her off guard. Her hair was escaping its bun in wisps that curled at her temples. Her cheeks were still flushed from laughter and the adrenaline of morning chaos. The sweatshirt she wore bore the clear imprint of a paw pressed into the chest, and a light smear of black fur clung stubbornly to the fabric like proof of war.

Reality crept in then—not in a jarring way, but with the quiet reminder of stacked obligations waiting just beyond the soft bubble of affection and flirtation. Right. Work. The real world hadn't paused just because her boyfriend wanted to make her forget how to stand upright in heels. She still had a backlog of internal policy notes to review for Golden Stag's international expansion, three updated hiring briefs from their Singapore team, and an email from Alex marked URGENT in all caps, which almost certainly involved a ceiling tile, a contractor, and a migraine.

Beth sighed as she returned to the couch and collapsed with a low groan, letting the cushions swallow her for a moment before she rolled up her hoodie sleeves and cracked her knuckles in resignation. Her legs folded beneath her, bare feet curling under mismatched socks, and she took a slow sip of now-icy coffee like it was a battle potion. She pulled her laptop back onto her thighs and forced herself to refocus.

The glittery dress could wait.

If she powered through the next few hours, she just might buy herself enough time for a quick nap, a hot shower, and the kind of slow, sensual curl routine that made her feel human again. If she was lucky, she'd even get to pour a glass of wine and play music while she dressed—something cinematic and indulgent, maybe with strings.

Midnight, still lounging like a Roman emperor at the foot of the couch, yawned and stretched with all the theatrical flair of a stage actor at curtain call. His tiny fangs flashed for a brief second, and his front paws kneaded the cushion near her shin like he was casting a judgment spell. His golden eyes slid toward her dress bag, then flicked back with a pointed look that could only mean one thing.

You better wear that dress, human.

Beth chuckled under her breath and shifted just enough to reach her mug again, brushing her hand across his fur. "Bossy little demon," she muttered, ruffling his ears without apology.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for a second before diving in. The cursor blinked steadily, a patient heartbeat. She began typing again—slow, focused, steady. The kind of rhythm that felt like momentum. Progress. Something resembling control.

And then, her phone buzzed again beside her—sharp, insistent, and unmistakably him.

She reached for it without breaking stride, her heart leaping just a little as she swiped open the message.

[Changbin 🐗💪🏻] Time: 10pm Place: Nox Dress code: Sexy as hell Bonus: If you let me pick the playlist in the car, I'll zip you up real slow.

Beth bit her lip, her smile immediate and impossible to hide. Her fingers danced across the screen with a response before her brain could catch up.

[Beth 🖤] If you're lucky, I'll let you unzip me too.

The second she hit send, Midnight groaned theatrically—one long, loud sigh that carried the weight of the world's oldest soul trapped in a four-legged body. His paw flopped lazily across her foot as if to remind her of her place.

Beth raised her eyebrows. "Don't judge me," she said, shifting to nudge his paw aside and reclaim her coffee. "You literally just bit me and demanded toys. We all have our coping mechanisms."

Outside, the breeze picked up again, rustling through the sheer curtains and carrying the scent of early spring. A scatter of cherry blossom petals drifted across the edge of the balcony like confetti from some silent, invisible celebration.

Inside, the apartment settled again into its quiet rhythm. Beth exhaled, shoulders looser now, fingers already moving back across the keys. She had a deadline to hit. A dress to wear. A man who wanted to dance with her—and maybe, just maybe, that was enough fuel to carry her through the rest of the afternoon.

Because tonight, for the first time in a long time, she wanted to show up for joy.

And she planned to look damn good doing it.