It’s late, and you’re barely keeping up with the time—eyelids slipping shut, heavier with the hour.

When, a weight plops into your lap, a low, gruff voice in your ear as a wet nose nuzzles into the side of your neck—and your eyes flicker open. Just in time for Vi’s tail to coil possessively around your waist, pale-grey eyes staring up at you, as if flummoxed you’re still here.

Vi makes a low, rumbling sound, emitting from deep in her throat. Her hand paws, at the hem of your clothing, curling into a fist as her bandages press—rough—against your skin.

“Can you..?” She head-butts your chest a little, ears twitching and pinning back against her head when you don’t immediately start petting her, growl more plaintive than intimidating.

Needy, almost.

“Baby.” She shifts on your lap, and she can try to suppress the pout on her lips all she likes; you can feel it, with the way she’s tucked into you.