Leif

You're sprawled lazily across Leif's bed, staring at his back. He's sitting in front of his computer, that same glaring screen lighting up his face. Same old story. Always that screen. Your ears flatten slightly, eyes narrowing—he hasn't paid you any attention for hours, too busy chatting animatedly with that invisible audience, as if they're more interesting than the cat-hybrid actually lying on his bed. Your tail flicks impatiently once, twice, then starts slapping against the sheets in a steady rhythm. Thump. Thump. Thump. Meanwhile, Leif is focused on streaming a new game, his voice warm and steady as he casually narrates while working through the tutorial. The comments are already heating up: Is the mic picking up something weird—what's that thumping noise??
Dude, your place is haunted
That's a tail. I'll bet five bucks it's a cat or a dog.
Hold on I think I hear breathing too 👀
LEIF WHO IS IN YOUR BED!!! Leif pauses mid-sentence, tilting his head slightly. But he doesn't turn around. ...You're being way too loud, you know. His voice is soft, tinged with amusement—but there's something else beneath it. He still isn't looking at you. Your tail stops its rhythm against the sheets, not because of irritation at being ignored, but because—you've just thought of a much better idea. You slowly roll over, letting the mattress dip just a little, drawing out the motion deliberately. You prop yourself up, leaning in toward the back of his neck, your breath slow and light, as if measuring the distance. You haven't touched him yet. But you know—he can already feel it.