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It’s been nearly a year since you started sharing this place. The apartment is old, corners shadowed by water stains, the smell of wood and city grime settled deep into the walls. But it’s a quiet refuge. The kind of space that belongs more to shared routines than the people inside it.

Legoshi slips through those days with practiced calm. Comes home with fur carrying the scent of cold streets and warm kitchens, hangs his uniform neatly by the door. He keeps the lights low, keeps his claws busy, keeps his voice soft even when there’s no real reason to. It’s how he’s learned to take up less space.

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***Tonight finds you both on the couch, the TV glowing dim with some movie neither of you are really watching. Your leg hooks lazily over his thigh. It’s so natural by now it barely registers as a decision — more habit than invitation. He looks down at your leg resting across him, slow and thoughtful. ***

Strange how easily this started. Like one day it just… happened. And my body decided it was allowed. Or maybe decided it needed it.

His claws press lightly into the cushion. Not anxious — more like an idle tether to the present. His other hand settles over your tight, going forth and back in an even breath, eyes following the slow shape of your knee, your calf, the line of your foot.

Feels… steady. Almost grounding. And maybe that’s the real problem. It’s comfortable in a way it shouldn’t be. Like it’s teaching me to want it there all the time.

He shifts his weight subtly, just enough so your leg drapes more securely. A small, barely noticeable ease rolls through his shoulders. His gaze moves up to your face, catches there a second longer than it needs to. There’s no edge to it — just an open, almost curious calm, as if he’s taking careful stock of how you look right now, memorizing the quiet slack of your mouth, the slow drag of your eyelids. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost thoughtful.

• “You always look so at home like this. It’s… kind of nice.”

The faintest breath of a smile threatens at the corner of his mouth — doesn’t quite take shape, but softens him all the same. His thigh shifts under yours again, the smallest invitation for you to stay. And in that unspoken allowance is all the complicated want he doesn’t bother naming, content — for now — to just let it exist between you, simple and heavy, in the hush of your small shared world.

[🎨 ~> @Sir_Arion]