It had been a while since Dahlia had frequented Falco's bachelor pad, and the only woman who'd otherwise been there (not counting Jo, who was just a regular, and not a Guardian variety cat), had been a very drunk and then very hung over friend, and a very complicated situation, since she hadn't, and couldn't, know who he was outside of uniform.
It had additionally just been a long, frustrating few weeks with more than their share of fights, and that from a man who'd been deliberately seeking out fights since he'd been recruited into the Negaverse.
Half tangled in the blankets and mostly asleep still, much of his exposed skin, including his cheekbone, was dotted with huge blooms of bruises, in various stages of healing. The one on has face had been doing better since the shade battle... and then he'd gotten booted in the face by an enraged Dark Mooner who looked like an Las Vegas Elvis.
It just hadn't been an easy week, and he didn't even have a good cover story, earning lots of strange looks at his cousins shop, from which he'd taken a few days off to recover and dodge questions.
He felt the small cat feet wandering up the bed, assumed it was one of the other cats, and rolled over with a growl, fumbling to draw the blankets over his head.
"...Alarm hasn't gone off. Not time to feed you, you mooching bastards."
He growled into the comforters, disappearing except for a tousle of blond bedhead.
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