qunqun
Give me your herbs, worm.
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basics
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TL;DR Bastard.
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tl;dr
Matt
It was 1 AM. The time where all the good boys and girls went to sleep, and the real fun began as the downtrodden and the partiers came out to celebrate in hedonistic revelry.
Or, if you were Matt, you were stuck in your apartment tapping away at a keyboard in the living room, struck with a burning sense of creation where you can’t rest till you’ve made something for that night to the dreary tune of the dishwasher as you finally got the energy to clean the mountain of plates that had been staring at you for the past week and a half.
Matt continued typing away at his computer, at this late hour, trying to for once in his life be “courteous” or whatever to his new roommate who’d moved in earlier… Who was probably trying to sleep. Seemed like the goody goody type to try to get 8-10 hours of sleep a night, something “healthy” or whatever.
He looked up once, at a small nest in the corner of the room where his cat had made a mess of his latest manuscript. The Egyptians believed that cats were gods themselves. They were worshiped. And maybe that was a good explanation for the centuries old hatred that the stupid cat named Plato seemed to carry in his eyes as he licked his chops at the struggling author.
“Quoi? What do you want, tonto del culo.” The future professor asked the feline.
A disgruntled grumble from the equally hateful miniature god - very annoyed that its godly godhood had found itself trapped in a vessel at the mercy of a six foot insomniac.
“Very homophobic of you, Plato. You should know better.” A soft offhanded tone to the fallen god. Said insomniac looked up from his laptop to peer behind glasses at the cat who seemed very annoyed at being called homophobic. Another sin to strike against the heretical Matteo as it kneaded the precious manuscript and settled back into its nest of spite and hate.
So went nights for Matt, catching up on assignments, writing his heart out, and shittalking a creature that couldn’t respond in turn.
Another little glance up from where he’d wrapped himself in a pleasant cocoon of blankets and pajamas to write in a frenzy of mad creative genius and a flash of red hair.
A blink - the two milliseconds for Matt’s brain to catch up with the idea of a person intruding on his late night ritual of frenzied creation and talking to a cat who probably despised his very being.
A little “hmn” noise, perhaps of surprise, perhaps of disgust. It was always difficult to tell.
“You’re awake.” Simple, with perhaps as much disdain as his cat in the corner could muster.
“Hope I didn’t wake you.” Said in that same offhand manner that made it difficult to discern whether or not that was something passive aggressive and angry. “What are you doing up so late.”
code by valen t.