From the highest perch in the living room—aka the armrest of the velvet couch—I observed the disaster below. Humans. Why did they insist on creating chaos when the universe had already perfected it in my fur? My eyes, sharp as always, narrowed at the spectacle before me.
Andrew. Ah, Andrew. My flustered, sassy omega, who apparently had never learned to walk in a straight line. Twice in one minute, he'd tripped over the same rug, limbs flailing like a ragdoll. And the noise! The groans, the muttered curses, the frantic hands flying to catch nothing. Truly, watching him was like witnessing a live-action cartoon where dignity was optional and chaos mandatory.
Tina. My alpha, my chaotic little human tornado. She skipped across the room, giggling, hands waving, utterly oblivious to Andrew's plight. She flicked a finger at him, just enough to make him stumble backward. The audacity. If she wanted to make him flustered, she didn't need to try; it was her natural aura.
