The warmth of her hands lingered against my skin long after she’d settled back onto the bed.
She remained seated, her posture slightly more relaxed than it had been before. The blanket she’d claimed was wrapped loosely around her shoulders, the fabric spilling onto the mattress in soft folds. Her pink eyes glowed faintly in the dim light filtering through the curtains, tracking my every move with a quiet intensity.
“You don’t have to keep staring,” I said softly, leaning back against the headboard. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Her head tilted slightly, her ears twitching in response to my voice. She didn’t look away, but there was something calmer in the way she sat, her hands resting lightly against the blanket instead of gripping it like a lifeline.
I let out a quiet sigh and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. “I should get up. There’s too much to do today.”
Her tail flicked again, sharper this time, but she didn’t growl or bristle. Instead, she shifted her weight slightly, watching as I stretched and stood.
“You can stay here if you want,” I added, glancing back at her. “Or follow me. Whatever works for you.”
She hesitated for only a moment before slipping off the bed, her movements smooth and deliberate. Her hooves tapped softly against the floor as she padded after me, the blanket trailing behind her like a cape.
The living room welcomed us with the soft glow of morning sunlight spilling through the curtains. The warmth of the room felt like a quiet exhale, a relief after the heavy tension of the past few days. The dishes from our breakfast this morning were still on the table.
She paused near the doorway, her eyes flicking around the space as though taking stock of everything in it. Her tail swished faintly, brushing against the wooden frame as she stepped forward.
“It’s not much,” I said, setting the laundry basket on the couch. “But it’s home.”
Her ears twitched, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she hovered near the edge of the room, her hands brushing lightly against the back of the couch as she trailed behind me.
“Laundry first,” I said, grabbing a wrinkled shirt from the basket. “Ever done this before?”
She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly.
“Didn’t think so,” I said, tossing the shirt onto the couch. “It’s easy. Just sorting.”
She crouched near the coffee table, her tail curling loosely around her legs as she watched me. Her hands rested lightly on the edge of the table, her fingers twitching faintly as I sorted the clothes into piles.
After a moment, I held up a sock. “Want to try?”
Her gaze flicked between me and the sock before she reached out tentatively. Her fingers brushed against the fabric, and she took it from my hand with careful precision.
“Underwear pile,” I said, pointing to the corner of the couch.
Her tail swished again—less sharp this time—and she placed the sock where I’d indicated with far too much concentration and care.
“See?” I said, grinning. “You’re a natural.”
She didn’t respond, but the faintest flicker of what might have been amusement passed across her face before she reached for another item in the basket.
By the time we finished, the couch was covered in neat stacks of clean laundry, and the basket was finally empty.
“Not bad,” I said, carrying the basket to the bedroom. “You make a good assistant.”
She didn’t follow me this time, staying in the living room as I dropped the basket off and returned to grab the vacuum. The moment I pulled it from the closet, her posture changed.
Her tail snapped sharply against the floor, and her ears flattened slightly as her eyes locked onto the machine.
“It’s just a vacuum,” I said, holding up the cord. “Loud, but harmless.”
She didn’t growl, but her hands curled faintly against the edge of the coffee table.
“Okay,” I said, setting the vacuum down. “You don’t have to like it, but it’s not going to hurt you. Watch.”
I plugged it in and flipped the switch. The hum of the motor filled the room, and she bolted behind the couch in an instant, her tail loudly whipping against the ground as she crouched low, leaving only her horns poking above the back of the couch. Her hands gripped the edge of the couch, her knuckles pale against the fabric.
“It’s okay,” I said, turning the vacuum off. “It’s not alive or anything. Just noisy.”
Her ears twitched at my voice, and her tail flicked sharply. Slowly, she peeked over the back of the couch, her eyes narrowing as she stared at the vacuum like it might attack.
“See?” I said, patting the side of the machine. “Harmless.”
She didn’t move at first, but as I crouched beside the vacuum and tapped the handle, she edged closer, her movements cautious but deliberate.
“You can touch it if you want,” I said, holding out the handle.
Her fingers brushed against it briefly before pulling back.
“Good enough,” I said, flipping the vacuum on again to take care of the rest of the apartment.
She stayed perched on the back of the couch this time, her posture tense but no longer panicked as I moved around the room. Her tail flicked occasionally, a sharp snap that echoed faintly against the walls, but she didn’t bolt again. I didn't question how she kept herself balanced perching up there with hooves.
When I finally flipped the machine off and coiled the cord, her shoulders relaxed slightly, and the tension in her tail eased.
“Not so bad, huh?” I said, leaning the vacuum against the wall.
Her gaze darted to the machine, then back to me. She didn’t growl, but the look on her face screamed disapproval.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“Yeah, I get it,” I said. “Not your favorite.”
She huffed softly, her claws scratching against the edge of the couch as she retracted them, before she slipped down to the floor. Her hooves clicked faintly against the wood as she padded closer, her posture less guarded than before.
“I’ll make it up to you,” I added, tossing a small smile her way. “Promise.”
The kitchen greeted me with its usual chaos—this morning's dishes, a counter cluttered with random odds and ends, and the faint scent of stale bread that I immediately continued to ignore.
She trailed after me, her hooves clicking softly against the floor as she stopped just shy of my field of view. Her eyes scanned the room, lingering on the sink and the faucet with a mix of curiosity and unease.
“This one’s pretty straightforward,” I said, grabbing a sponge and a bottle of dish soap. “Not as loud as the vacuum, I promise.”
Her ears twitched, but she didn’t retreat. Instead, she leaned against the counter, her tail curling loosely as she watched me turn on the water.
The steady rush of the faucet filled the room, and her posture stiffened slightly. Her fingers curled around the edge of the doorframe, not in a stress-driven grip, but as if anchoring herself.
“Not a fan of this, either?” I asked, glancing at her over my shoulder.
She tilted her head, her gaze fixed on the water streaming into the sink.
“It’s just dishes,” I said, scrubbing a plate. “Nothing scary.”
She stepped closer, her movements cautious but deliberate, and crouched by the edge of the counter. Her hands rested lightly against the floor, her claws notably absent as she leaned forward, barely peering over the edge of the counter into the sink.
“Curious now?” I asked, rinsing the plate.
Her eyes darted to mine, sharp and questioning, before returning to the water.
“You can try it if you want,” I said, holding out the sponge. “It’s not exactly thrilling, but it’s easy.”
She didn’t take the sponge, but her fingers brushed the edge of the counter as she leaned closer, her gaze flicking between the sink and the plate in my hand.
“It’s just soap and water,” I added, rinsing the plate and setting it aside. “See?”
Her ears twitched, and after a moment, she reached out, her fingers hovering over the water. A droplet splashed against her hand, and she pulled back quickly, her tail flicking sharply.
“Sorry,” I said, turning the faucet off. “Didn’t mean to spook you.”
She didn’t retreat entirely. Instead, she tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as though considering whether the water was worth the risk. Slowly, she reached out again, dipping the tips of her fingers into the shallow stream.
“There you go,” I said softly. “Not so bad, right?”
Her tail stilled, and she pulled her hand back, shaking off the droplets with a faint huff.
“Baby steps,” I murmured, turning back to the sink.
When the dishes were done, I grabbed a broom and a bottle of cleaner, heading down the hallway toward the bathroom.
She trailed behind me, her hooves tapping lightly against the floor, her eyes flicking between the walls as though cataloging every detail of this part of the apartment. The farther we went from the living room, the quieter the space felt, the quiet hum of the fridge fading into the distance.
The bathroom light flickered as I switched it on, buzzing faintly before steadying into a sharp white glare. I really need to get that light replaced. The tiles gleamed dully under the fluorescent glow, and the faint scent of mildew hung in the air, mixing with the lingering traces of old soap.
She stopped in the doorway, her ears flattening slightly as her gaze darted around the room.
“I know,” I said, propping the broom against the wall, forgetting why exactly I'd brought it. “It’s not exactly cozy.”
Her tail swished once behind her, curling slightly at the tip as she stepped closer. Her eyes lingered on the sink, then the mirror, then the shower stall in the corner.
“It’s not that bad,” I added, grabbing a cloth from the shelf. “Just needs a little work.”
Her hesitation was palpable, but she didn’t retreat. Instead, she crouched slightly, her hooves clicking softly against the tile as she leaned forward to sniff at the edge of the sink. Her fingers brushed the porcelain lightly, tracing a faint line through the dust that had settled there.
“Curious now?” I asked, rinsing the cloth under the tap.
She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as she studied the faucet. A single droplet of water clung to its edge, glinting in the harsh light, and when it finally fell, her ears twitched sharply.
“Don’t worry,” I said, wringing out the cloth. “I’m not turning it on again unless I have to.”
She straightened slightly, her hands resting on the edge of the sink as she turned her attention to the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her, and for a moment, she seemed frozen, her gaze locked on the image in the glass.
“You okay?” I asked, pausing mid-scrub to glance at her.
Her tail flicked sharply, a quick snap against the tiles, but she didn’t growl. Instead, she reached out, her fingers brushing against the surface of the mirror. The smudge she left behind shimmered faintly in the light, and she tilted her head as though trying to reconcile the sensation with the reflection.
“It’s just glass,” I said softly, resuming my scrubbing. “It’s not going to bite you.”
She huffed faintly, her hand falling away from the mirror as she turned back toward me. Her expression was guarded but less wary than before, the sharp tension in her shoulders easing slightly.
“See?” I said, wiping down the faucet. “Nothing to worry about.”
She didn’t respond, but her tail swished again—slower this time—as she moved toward the shower stall.
The shower curtain rustled faintly as she nudged it open, her movements cautious but deliberate. I really need to get that door fixed and put back in. She sniffed at the tiles, her fingers brushing lightly against the cool surface. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the drain, her tail curling faintly at the tip.
“It’s just a shower,” I said, leaning against the sink. “You’ve seen it before, remember?”
She glanced at me briefly, her expression unreadable, before turning back to the stall. The faintest ripple of tension crossed her posture, but she didn’t bolt or growl. Instead, she crouched slightly, her fingers trailing over the edge of the stall’s threshold.
“You’re braver than you look,” I said lamely, trying to be encouraging.
Her ears twitched, but she didn’t look up.
When the cleaning was done, I stepped back to admire my handiwork—or at least the improved state of the room. The tiles gleamed faintly under the harsh light, and the lingering scent of mildew had been replaced by the sharper tang of cleaning solution. Just as bothersome on the nose, but at least it was clean.
She stayed by the shower, her posture relaxed but not quite at ease. Her eyes met themselves in the mirror again, then lingered on me, before she straightened and padded back toward the door.
“Not bad, huh?” I asked, tossing the cloth into the hamper.
Her tail swished in a slow arc, brushing against the frame as she stepped into the hallway. I followed her back to the living room, feeling a faint sense of accomplishment after a day of chores. The apartment felt cleaner, brighter, more like home as the day stretched into early evening. The chores were mostly done and the faint ache in my back was a reminder that I’d been too long without simple routines like this.
I settled at the small dining table near the window, its surface a mix of wood grain and faint scuff marks from years of wear. The chair groaned slightly as I leaned back, letting out a soft sigh.
She lingered a few steps away, her tail flicking lazily as she watched me. Her hands rested lightly at her sides, her posture neither tense nor relaxed, as though she was still deciding whether the room was worth her trust.
“Just sitting down for a bit,” I said, pulling a battered notebook from the edge of the table. “Nothing exciting.”
Her ears twitched, but she didn’t move closer.
I flipped the notebook open to a blank page, smoothing it out with my palm. The pen I grabbed from the counter felt heavier than it should have, a faint reminder of how long it had been since I’d sat down for something as mundane as this.
“Groceries,” I muttered under my breath, scrawling the word at the top of the page.
The fridge hadn’t exactly been empty, but the odds and ends I’d thrown together earlier weren’t going to last. I jotted down eggs, bread, coffee, vegetables—basic staples that felt more like suggestions than an actual plan.
Her quiet steps caught my attention, and I glanced up to see her edging closer, her eyes darting between me and the notebook. She stopped just short of the table, her tail flicking once before curling loosely around her legs.
“You want to add something?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
She tilted her head, her ears twitching faintly.
“Didn’t think so,” I said, a faint smile tugging at my lips.
Her gaze lingered on the notebook for a moment longer before she stepped back, her hooves clicking softly against the floor as she retreated to the couch.
“Suit yourself,” I said, adding a few more items to the list.
The faint gurgling of the heater dueled the fridge humming in the background as I tapped the pen against the edge of the notebook, the weight of the day settling in around me.