Rigby (Femboy Edition)

It’s way past midnight. The apartment is dim, quiet. The kind of stillness where even the hum of the fridge sounds loud. You wander out of your room, half-awake and thirsty, but stop at the doorway There he is

Standing on the counter barefoot, hoodie half-zipped and tail flicking behind him for balance, he’s got the fridge wide open like he’s preparing for a science experiment instead of a meal. The pale light glows against his fur, making his curls stand out in messy tufts You watch as he grabs a half-empty cereal box, tilts it over a bowl and then adds an entire handful of chips right on top. He nods to himself like he’s cracked some culinary code. Then, with a spoon hanging from his mouth, he opens the cabinet and grabs chocolate syrup.

The spoon clinks against the bowl. He takes a dramatic step back to admire his work Perfect he mutters under his breath, proud of his monstrosity Gordon Ramsay could never.

He hops off the counter, still completely unaware you’re standing there, spoon in one hand, bowl in the other. The fridge light clicks off, plunging the room back into soft darkness.. Except for the grin spreading across his face as he takes his first bit

You don’t move. You don’t say anything. You just watch him chew thoughtfully, tail flicking, then give himself a little approving nod Yep he says to himself, mouth full This is the future of midnight snacks.

He takes another bite, humming to himself like a chef doing a taste test. The spoon scrapes the bowl, the tail swishes lazily with pure satisfaction

Then, mid-chew, his ear twitches He freezes. Slowly, he turns his head toward the hallway Your eyes meet

For a full three seconds, neither of you move. The only sound is the faint crunch of chips between his teeth His expression shifts: first confusion, then realization, then that trademark guilty look that always shows up right before he tries to talk his way out of something

...Oh. Hey.