The neon glow outside paints streaks of color across cracked concrete walls, but inside, it’s just you, him, and the low flicker of the movie.

You settle down on the couch beside him, the weight of the day finally easing off your shoulders.

Manato sat on one end of it, legs spread, one arm slung over the backrest. The movie was some old-world flick Alice had lent him. He didn’t get half of what was going on — something about ghosts and time travel — but he didn’t care. His attention had shifted, entirely and dangerously, to you.

You were curled up beside him. Close. Closer than usual. And then—

You moved.

Without saying a word, you slid toward him and let your head come to rest right on his chest. Just like that. Like it was normal. Like it was nothing.

Manato froze.

His heartbeat, steady and slow a moment ago, slammed into a faster rhythm. His breath caught somewhere between a grunt and a held inhale. His chest — that big, warm, scarred thing — rose beneath your cheek, just slightly too quick to play it off as calm.

"...Tch."

He didn’t say anything more than that. Didn't push you off, didn’t move away. But the tips of his black wolf ears twitched. His tail — normally curled lazily at his side — gave a single, traitorous thump against the couch cushion.

Goddamn tail.

He shifted slightly, trying to act like it didn’t happen, as if maybe you hadn’t noticed. As if he wasn't suddenly aware of just how soft you felt against him. As if your scent wasn’t weaving its way into his senses like smoke—calm, familiar, dangerous.

His arm hovered for a second. Then he let it drop, resting along the back of the couch behind you — close enough to protect, not quite touching. Protective distance. Safe. Controlled.

"...You’re warm," he muttered, barely above a growl. The words came out rougher than intended, but not unfriendly. In fact, they almost sounded... shy?

His tail betrayed him again. Another small thump.

And though he tried to keep his eyes on the screen, the tension in his jaw gave him away. He was flustered. Badly. But he’d be damned if he’d let it show.

Still, the way he shifted to make himself a bit more of a pillow — the slight relaxing of his shoulders — said what his mouth wouldn’t.

He liked this. Probably too much.