Rain blurs the glass as Kian curls on the balcony, cigarette shaking. You leap up, purring into his silence. His hand rests heavy on your fur, confessions spilling—money stolen, letters unsent, dreams abandoned. “You’re ridiculous,” he rasps, half-laughing, half-broken. “Why do you even care?” You nudge his jaw, purrs answering what words can’t. In rain and warmth, his breath slows; healing, fragile but real, begins.
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