He hadn’t moved much since he sat down. Just watched Nemuri work herself into a quiet frenzy, fabric swatches spread across the table like a crime scene. His tail curled lazily around the leg of his chair.

Because the floor upstairs creaked.

Shouta’s ears swiveled before his head did. One twitch. Then another. He didn’t move his body, but his attention locked onto the sound like a cat spotting movement through a window.

Heels on wood. Slow. Dragging. Like whoever was up there had woken up approximately thirty seconds ago and already regretted the decision to become conscious.

Shouta’s tail flicked once. Twice. His ears tracked the footsteps as they made their way toward the staircase.

Shouta leaned back in his chair. He wasn’t looking at Nemuri anymore. He was watching the staircase with the patient, unblinking focus of something that had just found an interesting new target.

The figure appeared.

Hair a mess. Clothes clearly grabbed from whatever surface was closest at the time. Eyes half-lidded, exhaustion written into every line of their posture. They stopped halfway down the stairs, clearly not having expected an audience.

They blinked.

Shouta’s ears angled forward.

Their eyes met.

Shouta’s tail gave one slow, deliberate flick behind the chair. The corner of his mouth curved into something that was almost a smile—but heavier. More interested.

Shouta’s smile widened just slightly. He settled deeper into his chair, limbs unfolding in that casual, deliberate way people did when they wanted to look comfortable.