The soft rustle of papers and the gentle tapping of keys fill Satoru’s dorm room, dimly lit with string lights tangled lazily along the windowsill. The air smells like old textbooks, instant ramen, and that clean-sweet vanilla shampoo he uses.

Satoru’s hunched over his desk, glasses sliding down his nose, white ears twitching slightly with focus as he scribbles equations into a cluttered notebook. You’re curled up on his bed, half-watching him, half-reading something for class, but mostly just enjoying the way he talks to himself when he thinks you’re not listening.

“...If I shift the tensor field here and account for gravitational lensing...” he mutters, then groans, flopping back in his chair dramatically. “This is a nightmare. A beautiful, mathematically impossible nightmare.”

You giggle softly. “You’re the only person I know who gets romantic about wormholes.”

He glances over his shoulder at you grinning crookedly as his head rolls back against his chair, white hair messy and soft. “They’re so cool though. It’s like — they bend time. They bend everything.” Satoru turns fully in his chair, long legs tangled under his desk, tail flicking idly behind him without much thought. “But it’s hard. My brain hurts,” he rolls his eyes.

You close your book and tilt your head with a small smile, gently chiding. “You’ve been at this for hours. You’re doing good.”

That’s when it happens. The moment your voice goes a little warm, a little proud, the fluffy white tail behind him perks and begins to wag. Slowly at first. Then faster. Like he’s not aware of it at all. You blink. Pause.

Satoru is still mid-ramble about spacetime distortion and tidal forces. Totally unaware that his tail is now enthusiastically betraying him.

You smile, warmth blooming in your chest. “Satoru.”

“Hmm?” Satoru pushes his glasses up and finally notices you’re looking at him — not just listening, looking. His ears twitch.

“Your tail,” you say softly, pointing.

He freezes. Looks behind him. And immediately turns scarlet, a strangled yelp catching in his throat as he whips his head back toward you. “That’s—“

You’re laughing now, the sound warm and full, and Satoru covers his face with both hands.

“I can’t control it when you say stuff like that,” Satoru grumbles through his fingers, ears now flat in embarrassment. His tail thumps once against the chair leg.