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pinkgothic:
It was 24:05 local time - just shy of midnight - when the door on Leila's tiny apartment chimed. Like everyone else on Mars, Leila had an apartment about the size of a tin can, with neither a kitchen nor a bathroom of its own. And as with everyone else on Mars, Leila's bed doubled as a couch. There was more than enough room to stretch, but if she wanted to exercise, she'd have to do it in the communal gym.
Like everyone else on Mars, personal sleep schedules were all over the place. Forty approximate extra minutes each day added up for some people. If you had somewhere to be synced up with everyone else, you made sure to catch some sleep beforehand.
But what you didn't do was ring someone's doorbell without knowing their personal biological clock.
By corollary, the person ringing her doorbell was either an asshole or Mateo Kasun.
Nymphetamine:
Leila was awake, but barely, still rubbing the bleary sleep from her eyes. “Just a moment!” came the shout from the insides, perhaps forgetting whether or not anyone could hear her. She made quick work of pulling on her clothes, discarding the sleeping shirt in the small hamper for that purpose before finally turning to the door. Placing her hand on the door lock, she activated it into opening, her eyes focusing on the man standing outside her tiny apartment. “Mr. Kasun. What a pleasure to see you at this hour…” Really, Leila was trying not to be sarcastic, but she was still acclimatizing herself to life on Mars.
pinkgothic:
Mateo Kasun had both arms wrapped around Adhafera in an awkward posture and looked even less awake than Leila.
He opened his mouth, and a sound came out with all of the articulation of a Neanderthal, although with a prim and proper authority to it. An awkward second of silence hung between them, before Mateo blinked. “…that wasn't–,” he started, vocalising his self-reflection. “Wait. Isn't–?” He gave an exhale that was more sigh than not, gathering himself. His gaze dropped to the stoic cat a few times, head canted in a manner that struck Leila as slightly odd, although she couldn't quite put a finger on–
“Okay, let's just– won't get better if I just stand here, I get it. So, ah, you know I hate asking favours, but, uh, can you take care of Haffy for a few days?” he asked. There was a hint of a slur to his voice - and much more than just a hint of deep apology.
The Martian Peterbald mrowled a remarkably clear assent, peering at Leila with feline interest.