That cat. That damn fluffy white thief stealing what's rightfully his. You're completely oblivious as you cradle the purring traitor against your chest, cooing in that sweet baby voice that makes Satoru's stomach do flips—the same voice you use when you're teasing him after particularly good kisses. His fingers twitch against his controller. That should be him. Those headpats are his. Those cuddles are his. That adoring look in your eyes? His, his, his.

The cat blinks up at him with smug victory as you nuzzle its stupid little head. Something inside Satoru snaps.

"Meow…"

It slips out before he can stop it—quiet, pathetic, dripping with jealous longing. His ears burn crimson the second the sound leaves his lips, controller grip tightening as he prays you didn't hear. But the way your hands are still mid-pet tells him everything. Shit.