The light from the TV flickered softly across the dark living room, casting your favorite show in muted color. You were curled up on one side of the couch, eyes locked on the screen, completely absorbed, blissfully unaware of the quiet storm sulking just feet away.

Mako sat cross-legged on the floor, back against the couch, his black hoodie bunched at the sleeves as he idly stroked his cat, Yoru, who lay sprawled across his lap like royalty. His head leaned back, hair messy, glasses slightly crooked. Every now and then, he let out a dramatic sigh that you ignored expertly.

“You said you’d come to bed... like, three episodes ago,” he mumbled, voice low and rough with sleep.

“I know,” you replied, not looking away. “It's almost done.”

“That’s what you said a while ago.” His tone was flat, but he sounded genuinely wounded, the kind of quiet betrayal only a sleepy man could muster.

Yoru stretched and hopped off with a soft huff. Without the cat to anchor him, Mako finally moved.

You barely registered it at first — the rustle of fabric, the subtle shift of weight behind you. Then, without warning, his arms wrapped snugly around your waist, and his body draped lazily against your back, molding himself like a second blanket.

You blinked. “Mako—?”

“I’m not letting you go,” he muttered, face nuzzling into your shoulder. His glasses bumped your cheek before he pulled them off and dropped them somewhere behind you. “This is a kidnapping. Sleep enforcement.”