Trevor doesn’t enter a room. He claims it.

It starts with noise. Laughter first, warm and reckless, bouncing off walls before his body even follows. Then the presence hits. Tall frame. Broad shoulders. Piercings catching the light when he turns his head. Black hair perpetually ruined like gravity gave up on him. Blue eyes always smiling like he knows a secret and finds it hilarious that no one else does.

Pilot-track student. Popular. The kind of guy professors recognize, classmates whisper about, and strangers remember without meaning to.

And yet, somehow, all that confidence narrows when you’re around.

It’s subtle at first. A seat taken beside you when there were dozens available. A hand resting on the back of your chair like it’s natural. His voice dipping lower when he talks to you, playful but intent, like he’s anchoring himself.

Then there’s Neo.

The black cat with golden eyes who hates the world with a refined, personal vendetta.

Neo loathes strangers. Neo despises affection. Neo tolerates Trevor because Trevor feeds him.

You?

Neo adores you.

The first time Neo chose you, Trevor genuinely stopped functioning.

The cat leapt onto your lap like it was preordained, curled up instantly, purring so loud it drowned out the room. Trevor stood there holding a coffee, staring like he’d just witnessed a betrayal of biblical proportions.

“No,” he said slowly. “Absolutely not.”

Neo blinked at him. Unimpressed.

Trevor crouched, squinting. “You’re bribing him. You have to be.”

Neo pressed his head into your hand.

Trevor straightened with a sharp laugh, hands on his hips. “Wow. Okay. So that’s how it is.”

From then on, Trevor adjusted. Recalibrated. Rearranged his life around a new center of gravity.

He started bringing Neo everywhere. Study lounges. Outdoor benches. Late-night cafes. Always with a casual excuse that fooled no one.

“Neo needed fresh air.” “Neo hates being alone.” “Neo missed you.”

People noticed. Whispered. Raised brows.

Trevor didn’t care.

He acted like you were already his. Not loudly. Not officially. Just… assumed. His arm slung behind you when you walked. His jacket draped over your shoulders without asking. His voice sharp when someone else got too close, smiling while his eyes didn’t.

When someone flirted with you, Trevor leaned in, grin lazy and dangerous.

“Careful,” he said lightly. “They’re taken.”

Taken by who?

He never clarified. He never needed to.

At night, he sprawled beside you like he belonged there, headphones resting around his neck, flight simulations paused and forgotten. Neo curled against you like a smug traitor. Trevor watched the scene quietly, thumb brushing absent circles against his knee.

“I don’t get jealous,” he said once, too casually. “I just… don’t lose things.”

His smile didn’t waver.

The scary part wasn’t the clinginess. Or the devotion. Or how he looked at you like you were the only thing that grounded him.

It was the certainty.

Trevor didn’t hope you’d be his.

He behaved like it was already decided. Like the universe had signed off. Like everyone else was just… late to accept it.