Work Text:
Mikeko Justice is an asshole.
A very cute asshole, yes, but an asshole nonetheless.
“Mikeko,” Apollo says, syrupy sweet and dangerous, “Where are my nice new work shoes?”
The thief in question doesn’t even grace him with a meow, instead choosing to lick his paw regally from his position on the windowsill. To the outside observer, he’d probably look like the picture of sophistication and grace. Apollo knows better.
“I swear, I will cut you off from wet food for a month.” Apollo says, raising his voice by a hair. “A month! You’ll be stuck with that dry food you always stick your nose up at, even though it's one of the nicest brands on the market.”
His threats, while compelling (at least to him), seem to not take hold either. Mikeko finishes grooming himself and stretches forward, claws just barely leaving tiny, infantesimal scratches on the painted wood. It’s like he knows exactly what Apollo wants, and is holding the information hostage.
He gets enough of that at work.
Time for a new tactic. Apollo turns around to his living room-slash-bedroom and takes in the contradiction that is his home. Ever since Clay found him that used Murphy bed on Craigslist, the room almost feels like an adult lives there, not some naive college student with a savings account full of moths; somewhere along the line he even picked up the habit of actually cleaning up after himself. This would be all be amazing if it meant he could actually find the things he needs. Like his brand new leather shoes that cost even more than his Docs. Which is saying something.
As he looks around the room, everything is in place. The bed is stowed in the upright position, and his couch’s freshly fluffed throw pillows are untouched. Even the kitchen is clean, save for his breakfast dishes in the sink. There’s no way the shoes could have disappeared, right? Trucy hasn’t been over since he bought them, so it couldn’t be her work, and the only other person who has a key has conveniently been out of the country for the last month.
That is, of course, the moment he spies a cabinet door that should be closed, cracked just slightly open.
“Gotcha!” And even though Mikeko’s been with him for who-knows-how-long, he still jumps a little bit at the Chords of Steel, sending a grumpy glare towards Apollo.
Apollo, who is currently on his knees in front of the cabinet, rifling through the shirts that used to be folded and stacked neatly.
“C’mon, dude, I just did the laundry and you had to pull them all out? Rude.” It's worth it, though, because behind the mess of fabric lie his beloved shoes, only the shoelaces a little worse for wear. He yelps in victory, pulling them out and raising them above his head in victory, pointing his finger towards Mikeko. “I knew it!”
Which is, of course, when an... unpleasant smell hits him.
“You didn’t.”
Mikeko blinks slowly and raises his nose in the air, meowing like he’s saying “Oh, but I did.”
Horrified, Apollo peers inside the shoes, and Mikeko takes the opportunity to flee to the bathroom. Probably a wise choice, because the next words out of Apollo’s mouth are:
“You’ve got to be fucking with me.”