Alice gently set Morpheus's exhausted body on the floor.
"I bought you some food," she said, opening the shopping bags, "and that… let-box?"
It's called a litter box, you idiot.
Morpheus looked around.
The room was unmistakable.
Alice's room.
Black walls. A dark ceiling. Posters of her favorite bands layered carelessly over one another. And at the center of it all, hanging where nothing else could compete with it—
A painting.
A hand reaching toward the moon.
Without realizing it, Morpheus padded toward it. Memory followed him like a quiet ache.
The painting was terrible. Uneven lines, awkward proportions. Nothing but a rough outline. Anyone else would have thrown it away without a second thought.
And yet she had kept it.
For years.
Why?
His tail brushed the floor, heavy with regret.
Why would you keep something so ugly… after everything?
Alice noticed where he was staring and knelt beside him, her hand resting lightly on his head.
"You like the painting?" she asked.
Morpheus looked up.
For just a moment, something flickered in her eyes—regret, raw and unguarded. The same kind that burned in his own. An expression he hadn't seen on her face in a long time.
"I love it," she said quietly. "An old friend painted it for me. For my birthday."
A friend…
She smiled faintly.
"He said the hand was his," she added, "and the moon was me."
She laughed, short and soft.
That sounds like something I would've said.
Alice stood and began removing her clothes as if Morpheus weren't there.
"Enough standing around," she said casually. "I need a shower."
Morpheus immediately lowered his head.
I can't look. I'm still human. That's wrong.
And yet his eyes betrayed him.
They lifted, just for a second—then again. The familiar shape of her body stirred something deep and shameful inside him. A longing he thought he'd buried long ago.
Don't notice. Please don't notice.
Suddenly, the ground vanished beneath him.
Morpheus found himself lifted effortlessly, pressed against her chest.
"Huh—?"
"And you're coming with me," she said, smiling faintly.
Run. I need to run—
Before the thought could finish, the bathroom door closed behind them. Steam rose as hot water filled the tub.
Alice stepped in first, then lowered Morpheus into the water with her.
Warmth wrapped around him instantly.
…It feels good.
Too good.
"I thought cats hated water," Alice said, watching him closely. "You seem… comfortable."
It's not the water, he thought. It's you.
His gaze drifted downward before he could stop himself.
Bruises.
Dark marks along her thighs and legs. Some old, fading. Others new. Fresh.
His paw reached out before his mind could catch up.
He touched one gently.
What happened to you? he wanted to ask.
Instead, a broken, helpless sound escaped his throat.
The mood shifted.
Alice's eyes darkened. Her smile hollowed.
"This?" she said, glancing down, her fingers closing gently around his paw.
"I just fell while running to uni."
That look.
He knew it.
The same one she'd worn when she broke up with him three years ago.
Then it must be true, he told himself.
Why would she lie to a cat?
She leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
"I should give you a proper name," she murmured.
A name…
That's right.
Morpheus doesn't exist anymore.
She lifted him from the bath, studying him for a long moment.
"How about… Moon?"
Moon?
Do I really look that harmless?
"You remind me of the painting," she said. "I might even visit the artist someday. Introduce you."
His chest tightened.
"But I don't know if he'd want to see me," she added, her voice distant.
"He probably hates me. I haven't seen him in college for a year now."
Morpheus licked her cheek softly, a low sound escaping him.
She smiled.
"We should sleep," she said.
She wrapped him in a towel—her towel—drying him carefully. Her bare skin chilled in the air, yet she didn't seem to notice.
"I forgot to buy you one," she said lightly. "This will do for now."
Her hands were warm.
Why does this feel… comforting?
When she finished, she used the same towel on herself. Morpheus didn't look away this time.
She dressed, climbed into bed, and yawned.
"Good night, Moon."
Her breathing slowed quickly, her body curling in on itself like a child's.
Morpheus hesitated—then pushed his way into her arms.
She shifted instinctively, holding him closer.
"Good night, Alice," he thought.
That night, his dreams did not come.
There was no fear.
No shame.
Only warmth.
And love.