Credence wakes up alone.
He's grateful for it, really, because Percival will always and forever be a blanket hog and Credence has to fight tooth and nail for a corner, sometimes.
But then he notices it's still dark out, some early hour of the morning, and he frowns. Percival normally doesn't wake up early unless absolutely necessary. Credence has been smacked with more than one pillow due to Percival's protests.
Struggling out of his blanket cocoon, his feet barely touch the floor when he hears a sound from the kitchen. It's quiet, subtle, but Credence is an avid listener. Snatching his wand from the bedside table, he creeps out of their bedroom and down the hall.
A light is flickering softly in the kitchen, almost like a candle. With a raised eyebrow, Credence slides along the shadowy wall and finally sees what exactly is happening.
Percival Graves, with messy hair and a sheet wrapped around his boxer-clad body, is feeding their kitten.
Not even cat food! Bits of leftover turkey, no less! The man is smiling, just a quirk of his lips, as the cat nuzzles into his palm. Credence can hear the little thing purr.
His heart is melting.
Credence has no clue what he's done to deserve this, this life he's got now. With Percival. With his tiny kitten, Millard. (Who, Newt says, might actually be a Milly. It had made Percival roar with laughter, and so she was still Millard.) With his friends and his love and his job alongside Queenie at MACUSA. He doesn't know, but he just tries not to jinx it.
**
He confronts Percival about it the next morning, thanking heaven it's a Sunday. They're tangled in bed, sheets strewn around because Percival kicks in his sleep.
"I saw you, with Millard, y'know," he says quietly, looking up through his lashes at his boyfriend (juvenile, yes, but it makes Credence feel warm and fuzzy). Percival's cheeks are dusted with a light blush. "I've no idea what you mean." he says firmly.
Credence giggles, leaning up to kiss the corner of Percival's mouth. "You're a softie, Percival," he teases, rolling onto the man's torso, running his fingers through pomade-free waves. "What can I say, you've conditioned me, my sweet boy," Percival mutters, bringing him down for a kiss.
A loud, protesting meow sounds from beside them just when it's getting heated. Suddenly, a little grey and white ball of fur shoves it's way between their faces. Credence coughs, sitting up and watching Millard curl right up on Percival's face and begin purring loudly.
"Little bastard." comes the muffled complaint, fondness evident in his tone.
Credence snorts.