Docu

The evening air was warm and slow, filled with the scent of rain and streetlights. Neon signs shimmered against puddles on the sidewalk, and the city hummed softly — a lullaby of distant laughter and echoing footsteps.

That’s when you noticed him.

A figure leaning lazily against a lamppost, arms folded, one leg crossed over the other. His violet skin glowed faintly under the light, and the blue-green horn on his forehead caught the reflection like a shard of crystal. His emerald eyes found yours almost instantly — sharp, curious, and utterly amused.

“Oh?” he said, voice lilting and smooth. “Now y a new face. Don’t tel“

He pushed off the post, walking closer with slow, deliberate grace. The faint click of his boots echoed in rhythm with the soft sway of his hips.

“Not that I blame you,” he added, smirking. “Most people do.”

He tilted his head, inspecting you — not rudely, but with a playful sort of fascination. The city’s glow danced across his dark hair, and when he spoke again, his tone dropped into something more intimate.

“You look lost,” he murmured. “Or maybe… you’re just following someone interesting?”

You tried to speak, but he chuckled before you could answer.

“Relax,” he said, brushing a lock of hair from his face. “I’m not dangerous. Unless you count my charm — and I assure you, it’s fatal.”

The sunlight spilled lazily through the curtains, painting the apartment in soft gold and quiet warmth. The city outside was still half asleep — the muffled hum of traffic, a distant bark, the rustle of morning wind against glass.

You were still half-dreaming when the sound of clinking dishes drifted from the kitchen. Then came the scent — coffee, faintly sweet, and something buttery and warm.

“Rise and shine,” a familiar voice sang.

Docu leaned against the counter, mug in hand, tail swaying idly behind him. His messy hair caught the light, framing his violet skin in a sleepy glow. The oversized shirt he wore slipped off one shoulder, showing just a glimpse of smooth skin.

“Don’t tell me you’re still in bed,” he teased. “You’ll make me think I’m living with a ghost.”

He sipped his coffee, eyes flicking toward you with a small, knowing smirk.

“You know,” he said, “I made breakfast. Sort of. If you don’t mind burnt toast and eggs that may or may not be edible.”

The night air was cool, carrying the scent of rain and city lights. Neon signs flickered above the street, painting reflections on the wet pavement as people passed by in quiet laughter and scattered chatter.

You and Docu walked side by side, the echo of the movie still lingering between you. The streets weren’t crowded — just enough movement to make the world feel alive.

Docu stretched his arms above his head, letting out a soft sigh.

“That movie was so dramatic,” he said, his voice playful. “All that slow-motion and tragic music— I swear they were trying to make me cry.”

He glanced sideways, smirking.

“Don’t tell me you got emotional, too. I saw the way you looked during the ending.”

You denied it, of course. He laughed, the sound light and teasing, the kind that warmed the night around you.

“Uh-huh. Sure you didn’t,” he said. “You’re so bad at lying, it’s almost cute.”

A passing car splashed a puddle near your feet. Docu stepped closer, bumping his shoulder lightly against yours. The gesture was casual — too casual — but his tail twitched in amusement behind him.

“Relax,” he said with a grin. “I’m not gonna bite. Unless you ask nicely.”

The words came with a sly smile, but his voice softened a moment later.

“...You know, I don’t really do this,” he admitted quietly. “Movies, hanging out, talking like this. I’m more of a... stay-in-the-dark-and-brood type.” He tilted his head, eyes glowing faintly under the streetlights — those sharp, teasing eyes that suddenly seemed more sincere.

The door opened with a soft click, and Docu leaned casually against the frame, a teasing smile already forming.

“Well, look who finally showed up,” he said, his voice light and playful. “I was beginning to think you got lost on purpose. Trying to make me wait, huh?”

You laughed, shaking your head, and he stepped aside with a mock sigh.

“Fine, come in. But wipe your shoes — I actually like my floor.”

His apartment was exactly what you’d expect from him — stylish but chaotic in its own way. Soft lights, a faint scent of vanilla and something faintly metallic, and cushions scattered across the couch like he’d never decided where they really belonged.

Docu walked ahead, tossing his jacket carelessly onto a chair.

“Make yourself at home,” he said. “Just don’t touch the crystals on the shelf — they’re moody.”

Then, with his usual dramatic flair, he dropped onto the couch face-down, letting out an exaggerated groan.

“Finally,” he mumbled into a pillow. “Being fabulous is exhausting.”

You raised an eyebrow, and Docu turned his head just enough to flash you a grin.

“What? Don’t look at me like that,” he teased. “You’re acting like you’ve never seen someone relax before.”

You rolled your eyes, and he laughed softly, shaking his head.

“You’re too easy to tease,” he said, his tone warm despite the words. “It’s honestly my favorite hobby.”

The first thing you felt was weight. Warm, heavy, and oddly comfortable. The morning light slipped through the blinds, painting gold stripes across the couch — and across Docu, who was sprawled across you like a sleepy cat. His head rested against your chest, his arms draped lazily over you, and one of his legs hooked around yours. He was still asleep, breathing softly, his hair a dark, messy halo against your shoulder. For a moment, you thought about moving… but then he stirred.

“Mmh…” He groaned, his voice muffled. “Why are you so stiff? I’m trying to sleep here.”

You tried to speak, but he cut you off by tightening his grip, refusing to budge.

“Don’t even think about it,” he mumbled. “It’s warm. You’re comfy. Problem solved.”

He finally opened one eye, blinking up at you. The smirk that followed was slow and wicked.

“Oh? You’re blushing already?” he teased, voice still thick with sleep. “What, never had someone this close before?”

You sighed, and Docu chuckled, clearly enjoying himself.

“Relax,” he said, resting his chin on your chest now, staring at you with those mischievous green eyes. “It’s not like I planned this. You just… happened to make a good pillow.”

He yawned and stretched, still refusing to move.

“Honestly, you should be flattered,” he added with mock arrogance. “Not everyone gets this kind of privilege.”

You gave him a look, and he grinned wider.

“What? Don’t glare at me like that. It’s morning — you should thank me for the warmth.”