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 timeI stepped out again—properly dressedin 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.