Chapter 14 #2
I moved before I thought, water still dripping down my back as I shoved the shower curtain aside, grabbing the first towel I could reach and wrapping it tight without checking, without caring.
My heart kicked hard against my ribs as I scrambled into the hall, bare feet slipping against the floor as I pushed forward.
Another sharp sound—movement, fabric, something hitting the couch—
I turned the corner.
And stopped.
For half a second, my brain tried to make sense of what I was looking at.
Alois stood in the middle of the living room, broad shoulders pulled tight, one arm angled awkwardly away from his body like he was trying not to make the situation worse—and failing.
Bento was latched onto him. Not perched. Not swatting. Completely attached. Claws dug into the front of his shirt, back legs braced like leverage, teeth sunk into his shoulder with absolute commitment. His tail lashed once, hard, his entire body locked in with focused, deliberate intent.
Alois didn’t move. Didn’t shake him off. Didn’t react the way most people would.
He was… holding still. Like this was a problem he hadn’t decided how to solve yet.
Water slid down my spine, dripping onto the floor in soft, steady taps I could hear too clearly over everything else.
“What did you do?” I demanded, already moving forward, instinct overriding everything else.
His gaze snapped to me.
Sharp. Panicked.
His eyes dropped for half a second.
Lower.
Then came right back up.
“I didn’t do anything,” he bit out. “I stood up.”
“You must have done something!” I mocked automatically, closing the distance as I reached for my cat, careful, practiced.
I slid my hands under Bento’s body, fingers finding the exact points I needed without hesitation. He resisted for half a second—just enough to make a statement—before releasing his grip with a sharp, indignant sound.
Alois exhaled immediately, the tension in his shoulders shifting—not gone, but recalibrated—as I pulled Bento back against my chest.
“You’re fine,” I murmured, hoping to calm my freaking feline. “You’re dramatic, but you’re fine.”
His body twisted in my grip, offended beyond reason, a loud, outraged sound tearing out of him as he attempted to turn midair and redirect his attack toward the nearest available target.
Which, unfortunately, was now me.
“Absolutely not,” I hissed, adjusting my hold as he flailed, claws catching the edge of the towel in a way that made my entire situation significantly more precarious. “You do not get to commit violence because you have feelings.”
Bento yowled.
Alois watched.
That was the worst part.
Not the mess. Not the chaos. Not the fact that I was standing in my kitchen soaking wet with shampoo still somewhere in my hair and a cat actively trying to dismantle my dignity.
It was the fact that Alois Müller was watching the entire thing unfold with that same steady, assessing gaze.
My grip slipped. The towel shifted. “Don’t—” I snapped, not even sure which one of them I was talking to anymore.
Bento wriggled. For half a second. Just enough to twist, plant his back paws against my arm, and launch himself—taking my towel with his claws.
Horror. That is all I remember. Sheer, terrifying horror as I stood in the middle of my apartment, soaking wet, hair dripping with soap, completely exposed while Alois smirked—smirked—and let out that low, traitorous chuckle.
It was just for a brief moment.
A flash.
A blink.
But it happened.
Mortification slammed through me so hard it felt physical—like something had reached inside my chest and squeezed.
In a flash, I dove behind the bathroom door, slamming it shut with more force than necessary as I pressed my back against it, chest heaving. My entire body felt like it had liquefied, every nerve firing at once, the rush of blood in my ears so loud it drowned out everything else.
“Oh my God,” I breathed, dragging both hands over my face. “Oh my God—”
From the other side of the door—silence. Not movement. Not footsteps. Not even the sound of him shifting.
My stomach dropped. “Nope,” I muttered to myself, already moving. “No. Absolutely not. We are not doing this. This is just a bad dream.”
I turned the shower back on, stepping under the water without waiting for it to warm, letting it hit me full force as I scrubbed shampoo through my hair like I could physically erase what had just happened.
I needed control.
I needed distance.
I needed—time. Time to convince myself that what just happened wasn’t going to make everything so much more complicated.
By the time I stepped out again—properly dressed in leggings, oversized sweater, hair damp but contained—I had rebuilt enough of myself to function.
Barely.
Alois was sitting on the couch, elbows resting on his knees. Half way between relaxed and rigid. His shirt was torn—slightly at the shoulder where Bento had made his point. A faint red line marked where claws had caught skin, already fading.
Bento sat on the back of the couch like a victorious war general, tail wrapped neatly around his paws, eyes locked on Alois with deep, unwavering distrust.
I crossed my arms.
“Congratulations,” I huffed flatly. “You’ve been hazed.”
Alois glanced at the cat. Then back at me.
“That was not hazing. He attacked me.” Alois let a brief moment pass, slowly standing to meet my gaze. Then—“Are you done?” he asked.
I blinked. “Am I—what?”
“Are you done being dramatic,” he clarified, tone even, “or should I wait?”
My jaw dropped. “I’m being dramatic?” I laughed, sharp and incredulous. “I was just publicly humiliated in my own home—”
“You humiliated yourself,” he cut in, not harsh, not loud—just precise.
Damn him.
I stepped forward before I could stop myself, closing the distance between us, heat flaring under my skin all over again—not from embarrassment this time, but from something sharper.
A flicker of something crossed his face—quick, gone before I could name it.
I stilled.
God.
He was exhausting.
Infuriating.
And somehow—worse now that I understood him just a fraction more than I had an hour ago.
Alois moved first.
Not away.
Not toward me.
Past me.
He crossed to the chair where he’d left his coat, picking it up in one smooth motion, already sliding his arms into it like the conversation had ended whether I agreed or not.
“I have to go out for a bit.” It was a simple statement, all edge and temper evaporated instantly.
I blinked. “What? No.”
He paused.
Just barely.
“You’re not going anywhere without me.” There was no hesitation in my voice this time. No second-guessing. No room for interpretation.
Alois turned his head slightly, looking at me over his shoulder. Not surprised. Not annoyed. Like he’d been waiting for it.
His mouth shifted—not quite a smile, not quite anything I could pin down—and he gave a loose, almost careless shrug. “Suit yourself.”