I hope Wash comes back to his room after a long day and hours of training, wanting to sleep, but finds his cat on his bed and doesn’t have the heart to move him
If Project Freelancer isn’t illegal, Wash thinks, it should be. At least, that’s about all he can think as he heads back to his room, groaning as every step pulls at the aching muscles all throughout his body.
Bed is all he wants, after just showering took a solid fifteen minutes instead of the regulation three, but he’s too goddamn tired to even care about that.
It takes him three tries to get his door open, trying to use a key until he remembers all he has to do is put in his keycode (he’s been spending too much time around York and his toys again, those old-fashioned solid locks from back home) and he stumbles in, tripping over Maine’s discarded armor for the hundredth time (we have lockers for a reason, he’d said, and Maine had laughed and Wash wasn’t quite sure why), reaching for the light and missing it and not caring.
One step, two, and he’s ready to just collapse on his bed and sleep for a week when he hears a quiet little noise, like a small animal snoring—
“—son of a bitch.”
Wash trips over everything in his room all over again as he actually finds the light, this time, and when he turns, Orange is curled up tight in the middle of his bed, half-covered by the blanket.
He wipes a hand down his face and slowly reaches out for the cat, but one lash of its tail and he knows he can’t bring himself to move her.
In the morning, CT finds him curled up on the floor under a blanket and the cat sprawled out on his pillows and promptly decides she has better ways to spend her time.