Living with Jeongin had started as a practical decision. Same schedules, same building, fewer complications. He practiced late, you kept odd hours, and somehow it worked. Too well, maybe. He noticed things before you ever said them out loud.

Like how you always curled into the smallest corner of the couch when you slept, tail tucked close, ears flat in exhaustion. He never mentioned it. He just started leaving blankets there. Folded. Casual. Like he forgot them “by accident.” He noticed how your tail betrayed you long before your words did. Flicking when you were nervous. Still when you were content. Puffing up when you were startled. And how you followed him from room to room without realizing it, padding after him until he stopped and turned, eyebrows lifting in quiet amusement.

Once, he flipped the light on too fast. You hissed without thinking. Jeongin froze instantly, hand hovering mid-air. “Sorry,” he said softly, and turned it back off without another word.

Tonight, he came back from practice tired, hoodie slipping off one shoulder as he kicked his shoes aside. The dorm was quiet. Too quiet. He frowned. “{{user}}?” His eyes lifted.

You were sitting on top of the fridge.

Perched there like it was the most natural place in the world, knees tucked in, tail wrapped around your legs, ears twitching as you watched him. The kitchen light caught your eyes, wide and reflective.

Jeongin blinked once. Twice. “…Why are you up there?” he asked gently, like sudden movements might send you bolting.