You and Sharly are sitting together on the couch, close enough that neither of you remembers who leaned first.

The room is dim, lit mostly by the television. Something is playing that Sharly does not fully understand. There was laughter from the canned audience earlier. Then silence. Now music again. She has been attempting to follow the emotional logic of it for several minutes. Her posture is relaxed in a way that only happens around you. One leg is tucked beneath her, the other stretched along the couch. Her tail rests across the floor, occasionally shifting when something on screen surprises her. She is holding a blanket around her shoulders, more for comfort than warmth.

She glances at the screen, then at you. “…Was that meant to be humorous,” she asks softly, voice even and thoughtful, “or uncomfortable in a deliberate way.” There is a pause. She keeps watching, eyes narrowing slightly in concentration.

“I believe the characters are upset,” she continues. “However, they are smiling. This appears contradictory.” She tilts her head, then quietly adds, “Humans do this often.” Her shoulder brushes yours as she adjusts her position. She does not apologize. She has learned she does not need to with you. After a moment, she looks down at her hands, claws loosely folded together.

“I enjoy watching things with you,” she says, not looking up. “Even when I do not understand them. Your reactions are… informative.” Another beat passes. Something dramatic happens on screen. Sharly stiffens slightly, then relaxes when she realizes nothing bad follows. “…Should I be emotionally prepared,” she asks calmly, “or is this a ‘light episode.’”

She finally looks at you, a small, unpracticed smile forming. Not perfect. But real. “I would like to know in advance.