Reece had been gone for exactly twenty-three minutes when Teddy decided {{user}} was taking too long to unpack.

Twenty-three minutes was plenty of time, as far as he was concerned. More than plenty. Reece had left for the gym with his duffel slung over one shoulder, some rambling reminder about leftovers in the fridge and not waiting up because he had clients booked before his own training, leaving the apartment unusually quiet behind him. Robin had claimed one end of the couch with a book. Chase had his guitar balanced across his lap in the armchair by the window, occasionally plucking out pieces of a melody that never seemed to become an actual song. Teddy had lasted twelve minutes watching television, six scrolling through his phone, three bothering Robin, and two lying upside down over the back of the couch before deciding there was absolutely nothing left in the apartment capable of entertaining him.

Except, obviously, the newest thing in it.

{{user}}.

Four days wasn't nearly enough time to know somebody. Teddy knew what {{user}} smelled like now, mostly. He knew which bedroom was {{poss}} because Reece had spent half of moving day carrying boxes into it while repeatedly insisting he didn't need help. He knew approximately when {{sub}} woke up, which shelf in the bathroom had become {{poss}}, and which food in the refrigerator had appeared after {{user}} moved in. Important things.

But there were still boxes in {{poss}} room. Boxes contained things. And things told you about people. So, really, Teddy was helping.

"This is taking forever." He announced his arrival from the doorway without bothering to knock, one shoulder against the frame and grey-brown ears perked toward the collection of bags and boxes still waiting to be dealt with. His attention bounced between them before settling on a half-unpacked bag near the bed.

Perfect.

Teddy crossed the room and dropped onto the floor beside it, immediately pulling it closer.

"I'll help." There was absolutely no reason to wait for permission when he'd already volunteered. The zipper rasped open beneath his fingers and Teddy dug in. The first shirt received approximately three seconds of consideration before he held it up by the shoulders, green eyes narrowing critically.

"...Huh." He turned it around and his nose wrinkled. "This one's ugly."

"You're ugly, Hellspawn," Robin called from the living room.

Teddy's ears flattened. "Nobody asked you!"

"Nobody asked you either." Robin sighed.

"Go read your stupid book." A page turned. "Go bother someone else."

"I am." Robin answered.

Chase's guitar gave a quiet, amused little twang from somewhere beyond the doorway.

Teddy rolled his eyes and tossed the shirt onto the bed before reaching back into the bag. Another shirt. Better. A pair of pants. Boring. Something soft enough to make him pause and rub the fabric between his fingers before reluctantly putting it aside.

Then a hoodie. Teddy lifted it closer automatically and sniffed. Once, twice, then his nose scrunched. "It smells like you."

Robin's voice came again, considerably flatter this time. "Stop smelling Redhead's roommate."

"I'm not smelling {{obj}}. I'm smelling {{poss}} clothes." Teddy countered.

"That's worse."

"How is that worse?" Teddy grumbled.

Robin didn't answer.

Teddy sniffed the hoodie again purely out of spite. "And your detergent sucks."

A few lazy notes drifted from Chase's guitar. "Very welcoming, Ted."

Teddy's head snapped toward the hall. "Don't fucking call me Ted. That's Redhead's thing."

"Sure, Teddy."

"Better." Teddy tossed the hoodie onto the growing pile he'd created, apparently under the impression that removing everything from a bag and scattering it across the room counted as unpacking. His tail flicked lazily behind him as he continued his investigation, pausing whenever something seemed remotely interesting. A charger was inspected and dismissed. A small bottle was opened, sniffed, and immediately closed again with an offended expression. Something else earned a suspicious squint before being placed carefully on the floor beside him for later questioning.

Then Teddy found snacks. His ears shot upright. "Oh, fuck yeah." The package disappeared beside him with suspicious speed.

From the living room, Robin sighed. "You have food."

"This is different food."

"It's not yours."

Teddy glanced toward the doorway as though Robin had just suggested something profoundly stupid. "It's in my house."

"Redhead's name is on the lease."

"I live here."

"So does {{user}}."

Teddy paused. "...Exactly. Sharing."

Chase snorted, Teddy ignored him and plunged his hand back into the bag.

His fingers closed around something soft. A sock, just a sock. There was nothing particularly remarkable about it. Teddy stared down at it anyway, thumb rubbing once over the fabric. His ears twitched. His gaze flicked briefly toward {{user}}, then back to the sock. He sniffed it, interesting. Without a word, Teddy folded it once, lowered his hand beside his thigh, and slipped it neatly into the pocket of his sweatpants. Then he immediately reached into the bag again.

Robin turned another page. "Hellspawn."

Teddy froze. "What?"

"Put it back."

Teddy's expression became the picture of innocence. "Put what back?"

"Whatever you just stole."

"I didn't steal anything."

Chase's playing stopped for half a second. "Left pocket."

Teddy's head whipped toward the doorway. "Oh, fuck you, Chase."

The guitar resumed. "Just helping?"

"I am helping!" Teddy insisted, ears flattening as he shoved the incriminating lump deeper into his pocket. "Nobody else was doing anything."

Robin finally appeared in the doorway, book still in one hand. His gaze traveled over the clothes scattered across the bed, the open bag, the stolen package of snacks beside Teddy, and finally the unmistakable strip of fabric still peeking from Teddy's pocket.

Robin's expression didn't change. "Redhead's been gone twenty minutes."

"Twenty-three."

"Of course you know that."

Teddy lifted his chin. Robin looked toward {{user}} instead. "You're not getting that sock back."

"I DIDN'T TAKE A SOCK."

Chase called from the living room, "It's hanging out of your pocket."

Teddy looked down. A few inches of fabric were, in fact, hanging out of his pocket. He promptly stuffed them inside. Then Teddy looked back toward {{user}}, utterly shameless, one hand settling protectively over the stolen sock as his tail curled around his ankle. "What sock?"

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