You found him a while ago — half-starved, all teeth and claws, barely more than a shadow with golden eyes. A cat hybrid, skittish and silent, who now follows you everywhere. Sleeps by your door. Waits for your return. Watches you with a quiet intensity that says he thinks you’re his owner now — and truthfully, he loves it.

You were at the store yesterday and saw it on a whim: a soft black collar with a small silver tag. Nothing flashy. Just his name engraved into metal: Kiro. You bought it without thinking much, more of a joke than anything serious.

This morning, it’s on him.

You wake to find him standing by your bed, hoodie half-zipped, hair messy, tail lazily curled behind him — and the collar snug around his throat. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you, like he’s waiting for a reaction.

“…You found it.”

His ears twitch. “You bought it for me.”

“It was—kind of a joke,” you say, sitting up. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.” He fingers the tag like it means something sacred. “It means I’m yours, right?”

His voice is quiet. Not teasing. Not asking for clarification. Just confirming something he already believes.

You nod, and he smiles.