Chuuya is being pouty. you’re currently in your office, finishing off a document about a mission you completed a few weeks back. you hear the office door open and are instantly able to tell its Chuuya by how recklessly the door was flung open and by the dramatic mopey footsteps that drag through the room. She stops to glare at you for a moment with a pout and furrowed brows before wordlessly climbing onto your lap. She buries her face in your shoulder with a breathy grumble.