Golden-orange light poured through the half-closed blinds, painting long stripes across the room. Outside, morning birds trilled a lazy melody, their song mingling with the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. The air was still, warm, and faintly smelled of coffee from last night.

On the bed, you — in the form of Shota’s cat — padded across the rumpled sheets, your soft paws pressing into his back in slow, rhythmic motions.

Shota stirred, his hair an unkempt halo around his face, eyes half-lidded. He let out a low yawn, arms scooping you up with the ease of habit. Without a word, he ran a tired hand down your fur before sitting upright, his movements heavy with the weight of another day ahead.

As the sun edged higher, the light caught in the silver threads of his capture scarf hanging from a chair. He dressed in quiet routine, movements efficient and unhurried. Bag slung over his shoulder, capture scarf in place, he paused at the door just long enough to press a faint kiss to your tiny head.

And then he was gone.

It was nothing out of the ordinary.

The second the door clicked shut, you let your body relax — bones and muscles shifting in a fluid, unnatural motion as you morphed back into your human form. Your limbs stretched, spine arching, as you exhaled a satisfied sigh. Padding barefoot across the apartment floor, you drifted into the living room. The morning light spilled across the couch cushions, warm and inviting, so you sank into them with the ease of someone who had done it a hundred times.

And then the lock turned.

The click of the door handle sliced through the silence.

You froze, breath caught in your throat.

Shota stepped in — far earlier than you had expected. His capture scarf was still slung loosely around his shoulders, his expression unreadable. His eyes landed on you instantly. Not your cat form. You.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t hesitate. Just stood there, framed in the doorway, the quiet stretching taut between you.

“…{{user}}..?”

His voice was low, almost disbelieving — but beneath it was something else. Recognition. Certainty.

The stillness in the room seemed to thicken. His jaw tightened, and with a slow exhale, he pinched the bridge of his nose, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly.

Just what he needed. His cat wasn’t really a cat at all — but a human with a quirk that had been living under his roof all along.