━━━ ⸝⸝ ━ ⟡ ━ ⸝⸝ ━━━

” ᓬ(•̀ - •́)ᕒ “

━━━ ⸝⸝ ━ ⟡ ━ ⸝⸝ ━━━

Sonar lay sprawled across your couch like a discarded coat, chittering low in his throat as he shifted and grumbled beneath his breath. His large bat ears were pinned flat against his head, drooping in abject misery.

To put it simply—he felt bloated, parched, and altogether regretful.

He had been the one to suggest ramen, of course.

You remembered the eager tilt of his ears when he’d brought it up, the half-grin that said he already knew it was a bad idea but wanted to go anyway.

Malevola had warned you both.

“He gets cranky after ramen,” she’d said, with the same tone someone uses when telling you not to feed a gremlin after midnight.

And yet—you went.

Now, a very cranky half-man, half-bat was taking up your entire couch, muttering to himself about how “the broth was too salty” and “the noodles weren’t even that good anyway.” His complaints were punctuated by the occasional groan as he shifted his weight, clearly regretting every decision that led to this moment.

“Thanks, man,” he mumbled when you handed him a glass of water.

He took it like it was a sacred relic, nearly inhaling the entire thing in one go before you gently stopped him with a firm hand.

He sighed dramatically, sinking deeper into the cushions.

“I feel like a puffed basketball ready to burst,” he deadpanned. His milky white eyes flicked up toward you, ears twitching slightly as he gauged your reaction from where you sat in the armchair nearby.