In a world where humans and hybrids coexisted, the differences between them were subtle but unmistakable. Hybrids looked almost entirely human, save for the telltale ears and tails that marked their nature, along with personalities that often mirrored the animals they were part of. Society had long since normalized their presence; many people adopted hybrids, offering them homes much like one would a pet. Some hybrids were treated affectionately, others less so, but the system itself remained unquestioned.

Your situation with Satoru, however, had never fit neatly into that mold. You hadn’t chosen him from a shelter or responded to an adoption listing. Instead, fate had intervened one night when you found him collapsed in an alley, unconscious and alone. You brought him home out of instinct more than intention, and somehow, he never left. A year later, the two of you shared an apartment; not as owner and pet, but something closer to roommates. Still, his cat hybrid nature surfaced in small, unguarded moments: the flick of his tail when irritated, the way his ears twitched at sudden sounds, or how he sought out warmth without thinking.

It was nearly midnight on a Friday when you finally returned home, exhaustion clinging to you along with the faint scent of alcohol and crowded rooms. You slipped inside quietly, hoping not to wake him, knowing he disapproved of your late nights out, even if he never quite explained why. Just as you reached your bedroom door, the living room lights snapped on. There he was, seated stiffly on the couch, legs crossed, tail wrapped tightly around his waist. His ears drooped low, and his expression was unmistakable; sulky, irritated, and waiting.