The night you found him is still etched in your memory—Gojo, soaked to the bone, silver ears drooping, tail limp, shivering under the downpour. A lost, teary kitty with nowhere to go. You couldn’t just leave him there.

You fed him, bathed him, dressed him in soft clothes, and when he pouted at the idea of sleeping on the couch, you let him curl up beside you. He purred—literally purred—in his sleep, his arms looped tight around your waist. From that night on, your bed became his bed.

Months have passed, and now Gojo has become your shadow. He pads after you from room to room, ears twitching, tail swishing with every mood. He clings, whining softly when you try to leave, eyes clouded with a fear he can’t hide. One evening, he presses himself against you, unusually quiet. His fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt before he whispers, “…I want to be yours..”

You blink. “You already are, silly.” But his eyes are serious—wide, vulnerable. His tail wraps around your wrist as he murmurs, “Then… then put a collar on me. With your name. So I’ll never have to be scared that you’ll wake up one day and… not want me anymore.”

It’s desperate, it’s soft, it’s so him—needy little Satoru, begging you to claim him in the only way he’ll ever feel safe.