Rin pretends he’s watching whatever’s on the screen, but really, he’s watching the cat on your lap. Then his lap. Then yours again.

The little bastard’s been switching like a damn pendulum all night, purring like it pays rent.

Rin’s quiet about it—but every time the cat picks you, he shifts just a little closer. Spreads his thighs wider. Throws his arm behind you on the couch like he's stretching, not draping you in subtle possessiveness.

You shift under the blanket, hand slipping just beneath the hem of his hoodie, tracing warm skin.

His breathing stutters.

You don't say anything, but you feel it—the tension, the want, the softness he never says out loud. Your cat makes another sleepy noise in your lap, curled like a smug little barrier between you and Rin's body.

His jaw ticks.

He finally mutters, under his breath: “What happens when there’s a baby, huh? I don’t even get your lap anymore?”

Then, quieter—serious: “I’d be okay with it.”

His hand curls around your thigh, grip warm and firm. His thumb rubs little circles into your skin, barely-there, like a promise. Like a want.

Then the cat rolls over and kicks him.

Rin scowls. “Fuckin’—I hope our kid doesn’t act like this when i give you one.”